Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Opening notes: Here we go again. Plenty of people looked for more to come about with this, judging by the reviews that were left. I'll admit I've gotten more attached to Morgan than any other character I've made in basically anything. So for all of you that wanted to see more of her, you're in luck. One of these days I'll put a permanent book end on her story, but that day isn't today. Hopefully I can fix some of the things I wasn't all that happy with that Halo 4 and 5 did. With all that said, thanks for joining me on yet another trip into the Nobleverse (I really need to get a better name for it).

"War is the mother fucking answer"

Corporal Ray Person, United States Marine Corps

Unknown Time

Unknown Location

The air was cool, perfectly climate controlled, and mid day sunlight was peeking through the windows into a spacious living room. A sweat stained ballcap sat on a small table next to the back door, dirty boots on the hard wood floor beneath it. The windows in the door were blocked only by partially opened blinds, and showed more than a little unsettled dirt in the back yard, several plastic containers sitting on an outside table between a quartet of chairs, a concrete patio bleached by the sun completing the image. Some of the containers were empty, save for crumbles of dirt, and others still bore their colorful contents, flowers itching to follow the sun in its trek across the sky.

Water ceased its torrent from the nozzle over the sink, and silence returned to the interior of the home. A tanned woman stood over the sink with a cup of water in her hand, tracks on her face from sweat marking their travel from matted black hair down to a thick neck still rippling with concealed energy. A tank top held tightly to her frame, still form fitting despite having had to resort to using a men's size shirt. It was stained with that same sweat that had made its way down her forehead, and her skin glistened in the overhead lights. Powerful arms, corded heavily with muscle and more than a few scars, escaped from the confines of the shirt.

Freshly washed hands no longer held caked on dirt, washed studiously by their owner until they were clean again, albeit a little raw from scrubbing. A washcloth waited on the corner of the sink, still cold from the water that had been on it, came up and pressed against her face, wiping some of the sweat away and cooling her down before she took the glass and her washcloth into the living room, nothing separating it from the dining room and kitchen except for an invisible boundary and a wall that the kitchen and dining room shared turning away and widening out, leading into the front hallway. The home had been built with an open floor plan, and it had grown on the woman.

Plopping down onto one of the more comfortable couches, the glass of water remained in her hand, already condensing from the slowly melting ice cubes inside. The washcloth went up and sat on her forehead, obscuring emerald green eyes as the woman gave a sigh of relief, relaxing back against the couch and sitting quietly for a time. There was still more work to be done, but it wasn't anything that would be lost forever if a break was had.

Footsteps on hard wood, the dull crack of boot soles on the floor, and the washcloth raised off of one of the eyes, a tired expression and a raised eyebrow meeting the brown eyes of another woman, one clad in a uniform, rather than the lax tank top and jeans, and far less sweaty.

"I thought Spartans didn't take breaks," the newcomer questioned, arms crossed and an ever present smirk hanging off of her lips.

"This one does."

Amber Bailey gave an amused huff as she sat on the couch next to her wife, slyly reaching out and grabbing her hand. Morgan took a deep breath, but her own lips let a hint of a smile come onto them.

"How's it going so far?" Hocus sat in a way that let her keep her eyes on the larger woman.

"Well, actually. Most of the plants are in the ground, some are in planters, a couple of the hooks have been put up and their pots hung with them. Still some more to go, but..." She trailed off.

Her wife's smile softened from its smirk, one of genuine pleasure. "Thought they'd last you longer than just a day. You're gonna run out of things to do at this rate."

Morgan shrugged. "Never leave a job half finished and all that."

"It's not half finished if you do it across a couple of days rather than buying out a flower shop's stock and then dumping it all into the ground in the span of a day. Are you putting all of them in the back yard?"

Another shrug. "The front yard has bushes in it."

Amber raised an eyebrow. "You know you can still hang some of them out there, and there's dedicated spots for flowers, right?"

The Spartan seemed to shrink a bit. "I don't like people being able to see me work."

"Our neighbors can look out their window and see you work."

A quiet whine as she looked away from the pilot, barely audible. "Still."

Amber sighed, her smile becoming a little too powerful and white teeth shining through. Her mouth opened up to say something, but Morgan never heard it. Then the warmth of her hand was gone, all softness taken away and replaced by something cold, something hard.

Morgan frowned, looking back over, and saw something that she had lost years ago. A battered and ruined set of Mjolnir Mark VI stared back at her. The helmet was completely ruined, several heavy dents in the top and sides of it marring the smooth surface and ruining the blocky UNSC stenciling on it. The golden visor was marred with dust and cracked, a large hole broken through the visor where the wearers left eye would be, showing only an inky blackness. The altered chest piece was crumpled in the center, bare titanium staring her in the face, and deep cracks spiderwebbed out from the deep gouge where something had nearly crushed the heavy armor.

Morgan went to swallow, but her mouth was suddenly dry, too dry to function, and no words escaped her mouth as her lips split open soundlessly. The house around her disappeared as the walls crumbled and melted, turning red hot, and disintegrated until nothing was left. All around her, the outside of her home, the verdant mountainside, the other homes, the city below, the blue sky, all of it was gone, replaced by the mottled gray and orange sky of a world long gone.

Smoke and flames filled the sky, and a mountain in the distance climbed into that wounded sky, splitting halfway up and becoming two. The dirt and sand on the ground, filled with dead vegetation and the remains of several armored figures, both Human and alien, lost all definition and gave way to a sea of glass, still red hot around the edges.

She took it all in within an instant, and her throat closed up as she looked back into that empty hole in the visor, and a green eye stared back, empty of emotion or fire. A shadow passed overhead, but try as she might, there was no looking up. Only the sound of an energy projector firing. A flash across the shattered visor, and everything went black.

June 7th, 2557

Town of Allerai

United Republic of North America

Wisps of steam rose from a coffee mug that sat on an oaken table, a small crown painted on the white ceramic. Another sat across from it, bare of any designs, with its own fill of the caffeinated liquid. It was darker, nigh on black, in comparison to the crowned mug's cocoa colored contents.

There was no sound in the room, save for the incessant ticking of a clock mounted on the far wall, ticking off every second that passed between the two occupants of a spacious living room, having changed over the years from how it had been found late one evening.

A dog barking in the distance, audible through the walls of the home, brought a pair of green eyes back to life, looking over a datapad filled with information, before they went back up and met brown. A man in a black uniform sat across from her, the pyramid of the Office of Naval Intelligence on the left breast panel, and a pair of stars caught the light as a ray of sunlight popped through a nearby window.

A scarred hand set the datapad back on the table, and the woman that controlled that hand sat forward, her elbows on her knees as she propped herself up, frowning slightly. She held the gaze of the man sitting across from her, Asiatic features firm and somewhat bulky, a thick set neck. The wheelchair was gone, a pair of cybernetic prosthetics having taken their place at the end of what had been stumps three years before.

"You know, once, I'd have jumped at the offer, but now I'm not so sure."

Morgan Bailey's voice filled the quiet interior of her home, echoes absorbed by the pictures on the wall, of the items that had been picked up over the years and put in their places.

"I know you would have."

Adam Greer, now with another admiral's star on his collar, responded with a look that was practiced neutrality.

"So why come to me now?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow. Her hands came together, fingers interlacing as she waited for his answer. She had read the report on the datapad, had watched the news, still had at least one contact in the military.

"You're the best." It was said almost matter of factly, as if that would be enough for her to sign on the dotted line. It only made her gaze narrow.

"There are others."

"Not like what we need."

"What is it that you need, exactly?"

"A leader."

Morgan's thin lips pursed, growing ever thinner, a tight line that held her words back for a moment. "Not what I was asking. You have plenty that could fill the role. Plenty of other Spartans that could be taken and put into the slot. It's not like I'm the only one with an officer's rank."

Greer frowned. "It's not black and white. There are still some IIs that are active, but most of them work in their own fire teams. Messing that up wouldn't do us any good. Plenty of IIIs have already been pulled into the program, but even the best aren't equipped to lead anything more than a detachment, especially with the issues the Gammas suffer from."

"And what about the IVs? There are plenty of them, almost all of them leaders in their own right. ODSTs, Force Recon, Delta. All kinds of operators are in the program. Not a single one of them is up to the task?"

His frown deepened, and he sat back against the comfortable couch that sat across from her. Wrinkles had cropped up on his face over the years, most of them stress lines, and he scratched at his jaw. "There are a few, but those are already in the higher levels of the program. IIs that washed out of their augmentations, and a III acting as a recruiter and co-director. They already have their hands full with administrative work and they're in too deep to just reassign them."

Green eyes narrowed. "Who's the three?"

Greer's lips pursed, enough to push some of the color out of them. "Sierra-A266. Almost all of the candidates have been hand picked by him. With the Infinity billet open, he recommended we seek you out."

"His words carry plenty of weight with me. He had to have known that. Why didn't he come to me himself, then?"

"He did."

As if Greer had called out, there came a knock at the door, and Morgan's eyes locked on to it. With a moment's pause, the door knob turned and a man stepped in, a black suit covering a large frame. A bald head revealed a tattoo with three arrow across the left temple that wrapped around half of the skull, only visible as the man closed the door behind him and locked it.

Turning back to the two in the room, blue eyes met Morgan's green, and a thin smile came to the man's face. "Six, good to see you again."

Morgan stood up, her mouth suddenly dry. She had always known that Jun was still alive, ever since Greer had first let it slip, but she had never seen him again after that final encounter on Reach. "Jun, likewise."

She tried to swallow, to make it easier to talk, but her body refused to cooperate, and she closed the distance until she got close enough to wrap her arms around him, holding the former Noble Three in a tight grip.

Jun returned the gesture, but it didn't last long, as Morgan pried herself away and awkwardly gestured to the couch that Greer sat on, before returning to her own seat. Silence held for a few moments before she spoke up. "So you recommended me."

Jun nodded. "Would have done it sooner, but you retired, figured you deserved a break after all that you had been through. Clearance told me plenty, Greer told me the rest. All that happened at the end told me you were a no go."

"But you're coming to me now, after I've been settled in for as long as I have."

Another nod. "Like he's already probably said, you're the best for the job. A capable leader in your own right, lethal enough to survive nearly anything, and your service record means that the IVs will follow you anywhere. You've proven yourself, and they all know what you're capable of. Nobody else has that."

She frowned, crossing her arms. As happy as she was to see Jun, and Greer, it wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. She had spent the last months of the war wallowing in loss and exhaustion, had spent the years after learning how to be more than a war machine. Now she was being asked to come back.

Looking away from the two, she glanced out the window that led to the back yard of her home. It wasn't very large, and it sloped up slowly to meet the back yard of another house that could be reached by going up the road, hitting a switchback, and following the road up again. It would end after four more turns, leading to a mountain trail that she had used plenty of times.

Life was good for the Spartan, calm and peaceful, the nightmares had stopped for the most part, although they came back on bad nights. She didn't have a job because she didn't need one, but she stayed in shape. She helped out in town sometimes, volunteered on hiking trips, acted as a first responder during the winter months when snowfall got heavy and people inevitably got trapped even with all of their preparations.

She had a purpose that was her own, for once. A nice home, a loving wife, and she was happy. What more could anybody ask?

Greer and Jun looked at each other quietly, before looking back to her, and she finally met their eyes again. Morgan made to say something, but the sound of keys entering a lock preceded the front door opening, and a female voice called out to her, tinged with a southern accent that had never faded.

"I'm home!" Amber 'Hocus' Bailey entered her home, still clad in the gray fatigues of a pilot, a ready bag hanging off of her shoulder with personal gear that she kept on hand just in case of a need for rapid deployment, a standard procedure for pilots after the Great War.

"Welcome home," Morgan replied to her wife, watching as the brunette pulled a patrol cap off of her head and undid the bun her hair had been kept in. Wavy hair fell down to just below her shoulders, and she shook her head to fan it out.

"Who are our visitors?" She asked, brown eyes not missing the ONI patch or the two stars Greer wore on his collar, or the man in the black suit.

Gesturing to each of them in turn, Morgan introduced the two, and Amber moved to sit next to the Spartan. "Rear Admiral Adam Greer, Office of Naval Intelligence and my former handler, and Jun, someone I've worked with in the past, Spartan branch."

At the word Spartan, Amber's eyes turned on Morgan, narrowing slightly. "Spartan makes me think they're here for something."

Greer spoke up before Morgan could. "We are. She's been tapped by ONI and the Navy to command a Spartan detachment on the Infinity."

Amber whistled, sitting back against the back of the couch she and Morgan shared, leaning against the arm rest and propping her head up on her hand. "Big posting. Big crew too, high profile." Glancing at her wife, she went on. "What are you thinking so far?"

Morgan returned the look, shrugging slightly. "It's a big change, sudden, but… I don't know how to feel about it."

Greer spoke up. "It doesn't need to be immediate, but the sooner the better. If you need time to think about it, we can give you up to a week. We can also give concessions if you have any requests."

Morgan simply nodded. "Give me a week, time to think about all of it. It's… a big decision now."

Standing, Greer grunted. "Of course. We'll return a week from now, or if you call for us sooner. You still have my contact information?" Another nod. "Good. The datapad will keep the information until midnight tonight, and can only be accessed by you. You know more than anyone the security risk, so keep it safe. I look forward to seeing your answer." Grabbing his cap, he made for the door, Jun giving her a nod as he followed the admiral.

Opening the door, Jun exited first, and Greer pulled the peaked cap back onto his head. Thanking her for the coffee, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

As if that was her cue, Amber scooted closer, leaning up against the bigger form of her wife, grabbing one of her hands. Amber's hands still weren't as large as Morgan's, but they fit well together when it was Morgan holding hers. That didn't deter her, however.

"Were you expecting anyone?"

"No. They just showed up."

"Sounds like a good deal if you wanna go back someday."

Morgan frowned, looking down at their hands, one barely covered by the other. "I won't lie, I've thought about it sometimes. I've had dreams of it. I always thought I wouldn't make it out, but now that I have, I don't know if I should go back in."

"Why's that?"

"It was hard enough getting out the first time. Doing it twice? I don't think so. Knowing my luck, I'll-"

"Ah." Amber's quick admonishment had Morgan's mouth shut with a muted click, her teeth coming together.

"Sorry," she said, apologizing. The pilot had done plenty in the way of dealing with her wife's fatalistic outlook that cropped up sometimes. It had never truly left, popping up from time to time, but immediately after the war had been the worst.

"If just thinking about this brings that mindset back up, is it even a good idea to go?"

She shrugged. "Who knows. I like our life here, I like what we have. But it's hard, sometimes. I get that pull, wanting to go back to it all. Restlessness. Then there's the times that you've left, and I've been here alone."

Amber frowned. "Deployments are never easy when you're married, it seems. I've yet to meet any spousal couple who's not had their rocky bits during a tour."

Morgan looked down at her. "Rocky bits?"

"Fights, loneliness, stuff like that."

"I see." A period of silence. "What do you think?"

Another beat. "I think it's up to you. You lived your whole life in it, nearly died a couple of times, lost everyone. I don't mean to sound like a downer, but..."

She trailed off, letting the words hang as she rested her head against her wife's shoulder, closing her eyes mostly as she looked down at their entwined hands, her thumb rubbing across the scars that crossed the back of the Spartan's hand.

Morgan didn't respond for a time, and the two sat in silence. For years, it had been something they'd both enjoyed. Two warriors that had lived during some of the most chaotic years of the war, where gunfire and explosions were just the natural ambiance. They had spent more than one night without a single word between them. Talk wasn't always needed, and they were both happy simply in the other's company. Too many years living with the rumble of distant combat or the roar of engines left a subtle appreciation for silence between the two.

Eventually, a deep exhale came from her, and her own eyes turned down to look at their hands. "It wouldn't be like it was before, would it?"

Amber looked up at her again. "Watcha mean?"

"I mean… there's no big war anymore, right? The stakes wouldn't be near as high, we wouldn't have our backs against the wall. Plus, there'd be IVs going out, and not me."

"So you mean that you'd be able to get the benefit of going back to that life, without the danger and risks associated with it." A nod. "Then it sounds like you already know what to expect. If nothing else, it'd be a cushy desk job. Better than slogging through mud and aliens."

Morgan's lips quirked up in a hint of a smile. "You're right. What about you, though? You're attached to Chiron Blue, right?"

"We'll get sent where we need to go. Why?"

"Just wondering," she replied.

Amber's eyes narrowed and she met her wife's eyes. "You're never just wondering about anything."

Morgan's smile grew a little more. "Well, they did offer to accommodate some requests if I had any..."

That got an admonishing look from the pilot. "Nepotism's a bitch."

"Maybe, but if I do go, I don't wanna go without you," the Spartan replied.

Amber's admonishment faded, melting away at those words. "I'm not surprised. You're like a lost puppy when it comes to me. If you're gonna do this, at least use the full week to think about it and what else you might want? It's a big move after so long out and your circumstances in particular. See what else you can milk out of ONI in return for your services."

"I promise," she answered. That was enough to appease the smaller woman. Amber knew enough about her wife at this point to know that any time promise was uttered, it would be honored, no matter how big or small. A momentary thought back to the first time Morgan had said it to her, their wedding day. Small, not many people, no strict dress code, but plenty of booze.

When I make a promise, I keep it.

With another nod, Amber pulled her hand out of Morgan's looking up at her wife and planting a light kiss on the Spartan's cheek. "Good. Now, I need to get out of these fatigues."

Standing from the couch, Amber moved away, disappearing up the stairs and into their room. Now, alone, Morgan sat for a few moments, staring off into nothingess, before she broke out of it again. Reaching for a book that had been left abandoned on the coffee table, the big woman resumed reading what Greer had interrupted: Spartans: Humanity's Last Line, by Jennifer Hall. A documentary had been made years before, and been turned into a book later on. It was one she had never really looked into until recently.

It seemed the universe had decided to throw her another curve ball.

The week came and went, the proposal always in the back of the Spartan's mind. The datapad had wiped itself clean, and when the black car from before stopped on the street in front of her house, Morgan was outside waiting with it.

There was no car in her driveway, Amber having left for work hours ago, and she wouldn't return for several more. That left just her to greet Greer and Jun when they made their way up the empty driveway. She noticed Jun had a small bag with him

Standing before they made it to her, she opened the door and gestured them inside. However short this visit might be, prying eyes were always watching, and with the two moving inside before she shut the door, she noticed the blinds in Kris' house had been slightly parted, before quickly falling into place as she looked over. Sweet woman, but nosey.

Shutting the door behind her, Morgan saw the two had already sat down on the same couch. "Coffee? Water?" She asked them, an eyebrow quirked.

Both shook their heads. "No, thank you," Greer started. "We shouldn't take too long for this."

"You could have just sent something."

"Not our call," he answered.

"Fair enough." Sitting across from them, Morgan held out the datapad. With the message deleted, it was little more than an empty datapad, a blank screen. "I've decided to accept, with a few requests."

Greer nodded, taking the datapad and handing it to Jun, who took it and tucked it away in his bag, before pulling another small terminal out and handed it over. "Name them."

"I want my wife transferred with me. Same posting, same berthing."

Greer paused for a moment, before he nodded, typing the request into the terminal. "Alright, what else?"

"I want the freedom to adjust my armor as I see fit."

"That…" He frowned slightly. "Fine, we can accept that."

"Lastly, I want one of the remaining Sabers adjusted and sent aboard for my personal use."

A deeper frown. "That one might be harder to do, but I'll see if I can. No promises."

Morgan pursed her lips, but nodded. "So be it. I'll sign your contract."

He stood from the couch and moved to her, holding out the terminal. "Please stare into the camera for a moment for retinal scan."

Adjusting herself on the seat, she looked into the small lens at the top of the terminal, before a laser scanned her right eye, grunting at the discomfort it brought.

Pulling the terminal back, Greer handed it off to Jun, who stood up and put it back in his bag. With their job here finished, the two made their way for the door. Greer turned back to her before he left, his frown still in place.

"Your wife will get her orders tomorrow from her command. We've drafted yours already in preparation for your agreement. You'll have to make a trip to Fort Garrett and get fitted for uniforms and your tech suit, as well as an issuing of any essentials you need. First tour will last a year, contract for four, a Pelican transport will wait for you at the same location, it leaves three days from now at 0900. Please make your arrangements in a timely manner and report to the flight line in your tech suit for immediate armor fitting once aboard."

With an exhale, his face softened. "There, official speech over. I won't be accompanying you onboard, unfortunately. Shouldn't be much in the way of contact, but there have been reports of raiders in the fringe and a Covenant Remnant. Nothing Infinity can't handle, but…" He trailed off. "Be careful."

Holding his hand out to her, she took it and they shook. Bidding her farewell, he left, the black car pulling away as she stood at the door with her arms crossed, a frown on her face. She needed to get things in order. Her home would be left for a year without anyone to take care of it. She would need help.

With her frown still plastered on, she stepped outside, aiming for the house across the street. Without opening the glass door, she rang the doorbell and waited for all of three seconds, before the inner door opened and Kris looked out at her.

Morgan forced a smile as she stepped back and the older woman opened the door, as bubbly as she always was. "Hello, Morgan! What can I help you with?"

Over the years, Kris had helped her with more than she could remember. There had been long periods of time where Morgan had shut herself away, but her neighbor had always come to check on her if nothing else, leaving baked goods or invitations to community events.

"I hate to ask on such short notice, but I'll need someone to take care of my home while I'm away. I'll be leaving for a year, I can't say why."

Kris' normally smiling outlook faltered for a moment, but didn't completely drop. "Oh, yes, I can watch it for you. Do you only need the outside or the inside as well?"

"The outside, mainly, my garden and lawn, but I have food that'll spoil. I'll bring a key over before I leave at some point and whatever's left can be taken out if you want it. Otherwise, it'll have to be thrown away."

Kris nodded, and Morgan's smile tightened slightly. "Of course, that's not a problem at all. Will Amber be going with you or…?"

Morgan nodded. "She'll be away as well, unfortunately."

"I see. We'll have to go out before you leave then! A whole year without you is gonna feel like forever!"

A momentary chuckle from the Spartan. "Definitely. Tomorrow night, we'll have dinner together. Sound good?"

"Perfect!"

"Alright, I need to get back and start prepping, but thank you for this, I'll have to repay you somehow when I get back."

"I look forward to it!"

Pulling herself away from the other woman after thanking her again and telling her goodbye, Morgan was back in her house less than a minute later, her smile gone and feeling a little more exhausted.

Thinking back on those times that she had wanted nothing more than to stop the fighting, it seemed like she was making a mistake going back into it. It had only taken losing everyone and ending the war on some far off alien installation to get out alive, and here she was running back to it.

It would be alright though, wouldn't it? More than once so far, she had been left in an empty home, with Amber sent off on another ship with another squadron. Rarely did she ever deal with actual combat on those patrols, save for minor skirmishes. Now they would be together, at least, and she would be a commander, stuck with making sure the IVs were ready for whatever came their way rather than her being in the line of fire. Even then, who would try and attack the Infinity? Nothing would make it through that ship.

Putting her hand to her face and wiping her eyes, she frowned. It wasn't even three in the afternoon and she wanted to lie down and go to sleep. She needed to eat as well, at some point. It had been different being able to take a break when she wanted, eating when she wanted, sleeping when she wanted. She had gotten used to it all, had learned to like it. It would be different moving away from her own home and back onto an actual ship.

But it couldn't be helped now. She would have to get herself back into the mindset that the military required. Forcing herself up from the couch, she decided to try and get herself into a positive mentality, and she needed to cook dinner anyway before Amber returned home.

The promised day came quickly, time blowing past in the blink of an eye. Hefting the same bag that she had carried all of her belongings in when she got out of the military all those years ago, Morgan felt it settle on her shoulder, stepping out of the car that had gone to transport them. Her Warthog and Amber's personal vehicle were locked away in their garage, safe from the elements, and Kris would keep her garden and the inside of their home clean and tidy.

Amber stood on the opposite side, already clothed in fatigues that she was more than comfortable with. Morgan fidgeted slightly in the tight confines of the tech suit she wore, having spent so long in loose fitting civilian clothes. Well, not loose fitting, but none of them had the skin tight suction of Mjolnir's undersuits.

Amber bumped into her as she moved around the back of the car. "Feeling alright, Commander?

Morgan gave her a small smile. "I'm fine. Don't get too chummy, we need to make a good first impression."

A snort. "Girl scout."

That got an admonishing look from the Spartan, green eyes turning on her with a look that said to be careful, but there was a flicker of amusement in them. She didn't say anything further, though. Already, the sound of a Pelican's thruster wash was nearly deafening in her ears. The flight line was empty, save for this one bird. The bay door was already open, the crew chief the only occupant. It seemed that they would be flying alone.

Making their way to it, they situated themselves and, strapping in, the crew chief shut the bay door and muttered into his headset that they were clear for lift off.

It didn't take long for the Pelican to pick up speed, pointing up at a steep angle of attack and making for orbit. Morgan frowned as she felt the ship pull away, while gravity fought to keep hold of her. Amber, on the other hand, seemed more than comfortable, bored even, but her fingers tapping at her thigh was enough for Morgan to remember that the pilot hated not being in control of the bird if at all possible.

Eventually, gravity slacked off until its grip had been shook away, and the Pelican made for Infinity. Half an hour more of flight and the bird decelerated, sliding into one of the hangars and touching down as if it had all been controlled by an AI rather than the Human pilot that she could hear even now coming over the intercomm to report touch down.

The straps came off and fell away without any issues, and the two women grabbed their gear and stood, stepping out of the Pelican and onto the decking. They weren't there for a second before a dark blue AI appeared, wearing a rain coat and holding an umbrella with multiple puncture holes in it. She stared out from beneath the brim of a floppy rain hat, a moody expression on her face as she introduced herself. Morgan didn't miss the small artificial water puddles that covered the bottom of her rubber boots.

"Commander, Lieutenant, I am Monsoon, MON-3385-7, UNSC Infinity's temporary AI, and I'll be your guide for your first few days on the ship until you've learned your way around enough to go about your duties.

Morgan and Amber shared a look, before the Spartan cleared her throat. "Monsoon, you've obtained our posting orders, I take it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've taken it upon myself to ensure optimal berthing to allow both of you to go about your duties in the easiest way possible."

A nod, satisfied, and the big woman went on. "Good. Thank you. What about our processing?"

Monsoon seemed to dim slightly, lines of code scrolling across her coat before it all turned into the remnants of a rain that only affected her, droplets of digital water remaining on the blue coat. "Both of you will be shown to your rooms and allowed to stow your gear before splitting up. Lieutenant Bailey will be shown to her squadron and given the chance to acclimate herself. You, on the other hand, will be directed to S-Deck for medical processing, final calibration of your tech suit, armor fitting, and your command level in-brief with the Captain. Any questions?"

"Negative, Monsoon. The sooner we get started, the better."

With a nod, Monsoon gestured to the floor with her free hand, where several panels in the decking lit up, flashing in a way as to guide the two of them. "If you'll please follow the flashing path, it'll take you to your berthing and we'll go on from there."

"Understood. We'll summon you when we're ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, the AI disappeared, her avatar merely a physical representation for Human crew to look at, but she had no doubt that Monsoon had eyes on every inch of the city sized ship at all times. Sharing a look with the pilot next to her, Morgan gestured with a bob of her head. "Ladies first," she joked, a half smile on her face.

"You're a lady too, smart ass," Amber shot back, but she led the way regardless. It was better for her to lead the way, so she could memorize the layout better, rather than staring at the Spartan's back for the majority of the trip.

Even before leaving the hangar, Morgan was astonished with just how big Infinity actually was. Several decks worth of space had been given over to hangars and the facilities required to house and maintain the massive air wing that Infinity kept onboard.

Pelicans and Broadswords were being pushed to and fro by crew in a rainbow's worth of vest colors, the hangar alive with activity as they prepped for cast off and the start of their newest tour. Crates were being offloaded from heavy lift vehicles like the D96-TCE Albatross, the massive vehicle able to carry far more than a Pelican could, and in the distance, she even saw the elongated, lanky looking frame of a D81-LRT Condor, whose job had been usurped by others like the Albatross, but with all the excess Pelican frames left over from the war, there was no reason not to use them for cheaper than their original cost and rip their slipspace drives out.

Several of the recently introduced M510 Mammoth's were onboard as well, being strapped into place, locked down with heavy ratcheting, and even a section of the hangar revealed an artificial gravity pad in the ceiling that was inactive at the moment, but would be activated before going underway to prevent the colossal vehicle from moving during transit.

All of it was left behind as they stepped through another doorway and into the hallways that ran through Infinity like nerves and blood vessels, feeding the important crew to the ship like blood moving to a vital organ. A ship nearly six kilometers long required thousands of crew to keep it functioning, a far cry from the frigate and corvette crews that numbered in the dozens, or a hundred at the most. Just under 18,000 personnel lived and worked on the ship, and it was filled not only with the tools to fight a war, but to keep its crew happy during the long voyages that Infinity would undertake. None of them were in sight now, but they were scattered across the ship, and the two new members of the crew would find them on their own.

Sailors and Marines were in every hallways, working on this or that, posting notices here or there, or ducking into another room to do whatever they did on this space capable city. The floor kept them in line, guiding them to an actual tramway of all things. Of course they should have expected something like this. The ODPs had their own trams, why wouldn't Infinity? There was likely other methods as well, but neither of them questioned it too much, and remained silent through their short ride farther towards the bow of the ship.

When the tram slid to a halt, the pair stepped out and almost immediately into an elevator that would take them to their berthing, still following Monsoon's directions as the AI kept a careful watch on them and their progress. An elevator ride up to another deck, and once again they were back on the path that was laid out.

More walking, more looking around, more memorization, and finally they were at their destination. Morgan felt overwhelmed as the door to their quarters slid open. She had been used to smaller rooms, and her berthing during her time on the In Amber Clad had given her a slightly larger room, but this was different. Given her new status, what they had given her seemed more like a moderately sized apartment than just a room.

The main room they had entered into had a set of chairs in a U-shape around a small table, a kitchenette in the far corner, and an entertainment suit on the open side of the U that the furniture was arranged around. Two doors led elsewhere, with one leading into what was a well equipped state room and the other leading into the sleeping quarters.

Morgan frowned and made for the bedroom, the door splitting open down the center and revealing a bedroom that was already set up for them. A king sized bed and a table on either side, with lamps and storage areas for what might be needed. Cabinets and wardrobes sat waiting for extra uniforms or whatever was stored inside otherwise. Finally, another door led into the bathroom that would be used during their stay on the ship.

Dumping their bags on the bed, Morgan's frown grew deeper. Was all of this really necessary? She had grown used to the comforts of civilian life, but this was a bit much.

"What's got that nasty look on your face?" Her wife's question broke her out of her thoughts.

"Didn't expect to stay in a suite rather than officer's quarters."

"What, you're complaining about it?"

Morgan's brows knit together and she looked back up at Amber. "I'm not complaining, I'm just making an observation."

"Well observe how comfortable it's all gonna be compared to where we've stayed in the past."

Morgan couldn't argue with that, but it did make her think. What were the berthings like for the other Spartans? For regular Marines? What about the Captain and other top ranked officers? It didn't really matter when she thought about it, given there was still far more to experience in the ship than just the rooms people stayed in.

Shrugging, Morgan left her bag alone. "Don't be late getting to your responsibilities," she called to her wife, turning and heading for the door.

"Yes ma'am," came the reply as the sound of a thud came from the pilot landing on the bed. Morgan didn't miss the tone that was the verbal equivalent of rolling her eyes, smiling slightly as she stepped back out and the door shut behind her. The next door opened and let her out into the halls again, and her new path was already lit on the floor beneath her feet, Monsoon more than ready to lead her around.

The ship only seemed to grow larger the more she walked through it, as if every step she took was adding another two steps of length to every corridor. That was to be expected, given her lack of experience with anything so big before. A frigate had always been the biggest ship she'd stepped foot on in regular incidents. Only the size of the super carrier over Reach had been bigger, but she hadn't gotten to explore it.

She stopped in her tracks, the sound of a far off voice coming back to her, and her lips dropped into a frown. She hadn't thought of Jorge in a while. He was still there in her mind, reminding her always, but he never surfaced to let her remember him most days, little more than a memory when the nights were dark.

Morgan thought that she had buried them all when she saw the monument at the museum, but she must have been wrong. A deep breath, in, and then out, and she forced herself to keep moving. Shaking her head slightly, barely noticeable to anyone but another Spartan, she shoved it all back into the box in her mind. There was no reason to give Kat another excuse to believe she was free to come back for a visit.

She made it to the elevators, and then S-deck quickly, intent on keeping herself busy and making good time. Stepping out of the elevator, a corridor ran on either side of the door, but Monsoon's lighting led her straight ahead, through another few doors, until she stepped out into a massive room designed for fitting all the Infinity's Spartans in their armor and tuning it as needed. A few dozen Spartans could be seen, some running on treadmills, others in the armor fitting rings, and still more observing or instructing their comrades, but techs swarmed all over the place, busying themselves with the Spartans.

The room was a large rectangle in shape, with three ascending rows of armor fitting rings on either side, the area lit up and giving off the coloring of a stark white medical room, despite being the farthest thing from it.

"Ma'am."

Her head turned to the right, coming face to face with a shorter woman, albeit barely. A thin nose, brown eyes, hair pulled back in a bun and parted to the right, and a pair of full lips had Morgan's green eyes meeting those brown ones. Morgan also made note that, rather than armor, she was in the bare techsuit. That seemed to be the standard for Spartans on the ship. "Yes?" Her response was quick, sliding into the professional face that she had been learning to don again.

"Spartan Sarah Palmer, Alpha Company Commander for the Spartan detachment and I lead Fireteam Vegas. I've been instructed to guide you around and show you the ropes, ma'am."

Morgan stared for a few moments, taking in the details of the woman and her position, before nodding. "Understood. Let's go then, Spartan."

"Yes, ma'am." With a gesture and turning her back, Palmer took off at a walk. "First thing's first, medical processing. Not too much outside of ensuring records are properly updated for the start of tour, and to hit you with some new cocktails of meds that have been deployed for all Spartans branch wide. Mostly a formality, but…" Palmer shrugged, looking back over her shoulder.

"And then?" Morgan moved next to the other woman, keeping her eyes moving and her head looking around.

"Then comes the armor fitting and suit testing to make sure you're capable of moving without issues. There'll be a period of a week or two that you'll be participating in War Games scenarios and other situations to both ensure that your armor is fully ready to go and to gain some currency after so many years out."

"Currency isn't something I'm all that worried about, Palmer," she replied, glancing back at the other woman.

"That's what the others thought, too, but some of the IIIs that have been folded into the program struggled with the GEN2 armor sets. It takes some time to tune them for you and get you back to full muscle memory status. Usually, the IVs do it during their augmentation period, but the IIIs still struggle a bit, despite having never really left their armor."

Morgan grunted. "Fair enough. Has armor already been shipped in or am I starting from scratch?"

"Shipment came in a few days ago on its own, ONI fingerprints all over it. Figure you must have friends in the shadows, Commander."

"If only you knew, Palmer."

The two stopped their conversation as they stepped into one of the side doors further across the wall to the maintenance bay, leading into one of the medical bays capable of treating an entire fireteam's worth of Spartans, injured or otherwise. Palmer stepped to the side, crossing her arms in front of her as a pair of medical technicians appeared from a separated room, one hidden behind a thick barrier. Both were covered in what would usually classify as HAZMAT gear, only their eyes being visible, and even those were hidden behind protective materials.

Glancing at Palmer, Morgan voiced her concerns. "There a reason why I'm getting handled by a de-con team?"

"Protective measures. Civvie stuff is still standard x-ray, CT, MRI gear that's been in use for centuries, but Infinity has a couple of new toys. More precise, more clear, more… better. Trade off is that it's kinda nasty for normal people, so these machines are solely for Spartan personnel with our enhanced everything. Not being used at the moment but it's standard gear for the techs."

Morgan grimaced, but it didn't last as she was shuffled into place under a setup that looked like the armor rigs outside, putting her feet into stirrups and her hands into a hollow cylinder with a grip point inside. Her feet were locked into place, and her hands soon after, before several restraint pieces were hooked into the armor bolt points in her tech suit, and she was left completely immobile as the tech suit went rigid, the low hum of electricity in her ears.

Another frown. This was new. One of the techs stepped in front of her, a few tools in hand. "Commander, I'm sorry for any discomfort, but most Spartan medical evals are a little… different, than what you may be used to. Luckily, your tech suit allows us to better monitor your status and gives perfect injection sites for any and all procedures we may need to do that don't require a dedicated operating theater."

"So my tech suit is more useful than the GEN1 version?"

The tech nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's got plenty of features that can be added on the fly as well, depending on mission set or armor pieces installed. For example, some variants of the GEN2 suits can be equipped with extra medical for missions where a dedicated Spartan medical response would be needed."

Morgan hummed, taking it all in. She would need to read up more on the armor and its changes from the first generation whenever she got access to whatever office they had set up for her. "Understood. Let's get this over with then."

"We'll try to go easy on you for your first day back, ma'am."

Morgan started to respond, but it was cut off as several needles were pushed into her system, one in each shoulder, each arm, each hip, each leg, and one each on the base of her spine and the base of her neck. She struggled against the sudden pain, grunting, but was unable to move in any way, short of her eyes and mouth.

It lasted for only thirty seconds, but it felt like forever to the Spartan, and she grimaced as the needles were pulled back and separate arms were pushed forward, squirting a small amount of biofoam into the injection ports that had been used. The burn of the antiseptic mixed with the stinging pain of the injections themselves were quickly wiped away by the numbing agent in the biofoam, and after a moment, the techs warned her to hold onto the grips, because they were unlocking the restraints one at a time.

Her hands were released first, and she pulled one down before the body restraints went next. Finally, her feet were freed, and she stepped back onto the deck, flexing her shoulders and hips, still not entirely pleased with the whole thing, but more or less she was fine. It hadn't been a major procedure, mainly a package of antibiotics, immune boosters, vaccinations, and other preparatory drugs that would acclimate her to a ship this size and the environment that it had become over time.

Frowning slightly, she thanked the techs and turned back to Palmer, leaning against the wall near the entrance. "Armor?"

A nod, and Palmer pushed off the wall. She was through the door with Morgan on her heels shortly after, already beelining for the far end of the room, where a glass enclosure with a balcony overlooked the area like a command center. Several of the armor rigs were open and empty, but techs were standing by the one directly under the balcony, an armor case sealed and waiting for its Spartan to come and claim it.

Her heart started to race a little as she took in the storage case that Mjolnir regularly came in. It had been years since she had laid eyes on one, and the last time had been when she'd sealed her armor away at the end of the war. She thought she'd never be in this position again, but… here she was, and things were different now.

Closing the distance felt like it took longer than it should have, anticipation building until she stood face to face with the crate, her reflection looking back at her.

"Ma'am?" She looked away from herself, looking at the tech that had spoken. He seemed to falter for only a second. "I need to access the control panel to unseal it, ma'am."

Morgan's lips parted, ready to say something, before she realized that she was blocking the panel, and nodded, stepping back. "Sorry."

The tech moved into place and punched the code in, before allowing it to scan his eye, and the crate hissed and opened up, revealing several blue colored armor pieces. It looked like when she had first opened the case on the Cairo with the Master Gunnery Sergeant, but with the additions from the battle on The Ark. It even had the shell holder modification and she could see the antenna poking over the right shoulder. She swallowed, before she saw herself again.

The golden visor on the Mark VI helmet was pristine, no dirt caked on or damage to the material. No fingerprint dents in the top or sides of the helmet. It was new, and all that had been on the armor from her struggles on Earth, on Halo, on the Ark… it had all been wiped away. A blank slate that was ready to welcome her into another war in another time once again.

She frowned when she realized she had been standing there for some time, and the techs were waiting for her. Some had exchanged glances, others fidgeting with the armor rig, making calculations that didn't really matter, just to avoid staring. Palmer was off to the side, directly across from the rig, watching with an interesting look on her face.

Nodding to herself, Morgan turned her back on Palmer and wordlessly stepped up onto the armor rig, going through the steps as she had in the medical bay until she was secured in place. With that as their cue, the techs set off to work, and the hum of electricity filled her ears again.

Several processes went on, her tech suit shifting and changing as the internals in it were calibrated and the pressure across the suit adjusted from minimum to maximum, mimicking the hydrostatic gel layer from the GEN1 suits. Rigidity and tension was next, and finally, relaxed. The calibrations themselves went on for several minutes, without a word from her. It was all computer calibrated now based on biosigns. Things had changed. She remembered her first tech suit, all those years ago, had taken hours to properly fit and adjust to her.

When they finished, the techs broke into pairs, lugging the armor pieces out as several arms dropped down in a group for armor preparation. When on the ship and not in armor, the pieces would remain here, attached to the rig. This was her rig and hers alone, and she would need to suit up here.

Once the armor was attached to all of the different arms, they pulled back up into the area above the rig, and one of the techs asked if she was ready. A nod, and the process started. Boots were attached, then the legs. Her rig shifted and changed as she was turned this way and that, the armor pieces held in place by the rig's arms and bolted together as if it was child's play. The legs were finished, her chest piece came on and the backplate was held in place before they were bolted together. Gauntlets, forearm armor, upper arm sets, and finally, the large shoulder pauldrons that had given her the iconic silhouette at the end were put in place. Everything was set up, until the rig placed her back upright, and one last piece came on.

The helmet was lowered slowly onto her head, and she watched the transition from her naked eyes to the interior of the old helmet. It didn't smell like sweat and blood anymore, old memories rushing back to her as that HUD settled into place. It smelled like… new car smell. The Master Gunnery Sergeant's voice was in her ears again, and she blinked. Where was he now? It didn't matter. He was probably out of the military by now, living a life that had been put on hold too long, just like she had been.

The HUD in her eyes brought her back to it, the shield bar flashing between red and blue as the BIOS finished updating and scrolling past. Several more things came online. The motion tracker, empty at first, filled with dots and information. Combat rosters updated rapidly, filling with the name of every Spartan Fireteam on Infinity and registering the bio signs of all of them based on their tech suit readouts, snatched up and carried through receivers all through the ship to keep command appraised of their status at all times. Then, her name appeared at the top, but it was different this time.

Spartan Morgan Bailey.

B312 was gone, it seemed. Her eyes had picked up several numbers that registered as the roster had passed by, including several Gamma company Spartan IIIs, and a few Beta company, but her number had been taken and replaced by a last name, her own.

It gave her pause, but it didn't last long. All of the names had been settled into fireteams and given callsigns, and her own name was separated into a separate location designated command, along with a host of other Spartans that would be working closely with her either as a command presence or battlefield operators, or if the need came down to it, her own personal fireteam for certain missions.

But she would meet them later. She needed to finish this. The techs were waiting for her to commence shield tests. "Ready," she said, nodding to them. One of them nodded back and threw a switch, and the armor pulsed with energy as the rig's power was removed and the reactor pack came online. The alarm in her head sounded loudly, warbling as she grunted and clenched her teeth before dropping the volume and waiting for it to charge all the way with a muted, but satisfying beep.

Satisfied, the techs noted several things on a control panel on the rig's pedestal, and she was released. Stepping out of the rig, it was like she was faster. Not as bad as it had been her first time in the suit, but noticeably so after years out of it. She flexed her hands, her arms, her legs, everything. It was all done slowly and on her own time, a distant callback to the routine she had performed in the beginning to get acclimated and judge the differences in her speed.

Satisfied, she nodded again to herself and stepped forward. Looking at the techs, they cleared her to go, and she moved toward Palmer, the golden visor sealing her inside of the suit doing nothing to reflect Morgan's facial expression. Raising an eyebrow had gone unnoticed, and she frowned. "I'm ready for whatever's next."

"Next, the bridge. You'll be meeting with the brass," Palmer responded, meeting her new commander halfway.

"Understood."

The response was short and clipped, and Morgan noticed that Palmer was quick to keep her moving. Palmer was good so far, a little nonchalant, but ultimately there was nothing wrong with her demeanor. Spartans had always been, in her experience, a little nonchalant. The IIIs had all had their chips on their shoulders, but capable of being informal. Even Jorge had gotten used to their way of things. Only the Master Chief had ever been stoic and formal, but even he had been able to crack a joke from time to time. But he was gone now.

Another frown. Memories dragged back to those that had been gone for years now. She didn't think she would ever get over them, even if she was able to hide them away in the back of her mind to stop the pain that never truly went away.

The trek through the ship was once again quick and short, with someone guiding her. It was easy to get around when you had a map with you. A tram ride, another elevator, and a 50 meters of walking brought them to the main bridge, where a guard was always posted in full armor, and rather than marines, two Spartan IVs stood waiting, their visors watching the newcomers as they came closer. Palmer saluted, and Morgan followed. The two saluted back, and Morgan glanced over the holographic IFF tags they had. Riker and Genoa. Ultimately only important later, but right now, she had more pressing matters on her mind.

Stepping through the door onto the bridge, Morgan and Palmer stopped, both coming to attention and saluting at the back of someone hunched over a holographic table that reminded her of the battle planner on the Forward Unto Dawn. Turning around, an older man with a graying widow's peek set his eyes on them, a severe appearance making him seem as if he was already angry with knit brows and a permanent scowl.

Returning the salute, Captain Andrew Del Rio put his hands behind his back. "At ease, Spartans." The two dropped their hands quickly, mirroring his stance. Another man, standing behind a tech at another station, made his way over. A much younger man with brown hair and a smattering of stress lines, the rank insignia of a commander, and a heavy armored pauldron on one side of his uniform stopped next to Del Rio.

Morgan reached up to remove her helmet, holding it under one arm as Del Rio started. "Commander, welcome to the Infinity. I received your service record, plenty of black ink on it that shows ONI has a very divested interest in you-" I read your file, even the parts the ONI censors didn't want me to. "-but that doesn't mean that you're above procedure or protocol." Del Rio's scowl deepened slightly, enough to be noticeable.

"No, sir," she replied, falling back into the old methods of doing things, when she had been ONI's pet attack dog.

"You'll be reporting directly to myself, or Commander Lasky, and be included in top level briefings regarding operations, planning, and more. This means that your position as commander of the Spartan detachment will prevent you entering the field yourself unless under the most dire of circumstances. You will be expected to maintain proficiency in all things expected of you, combat based or otherwise."

Morgan fought off a frown. There was little so far of Del Rio's personality that led to him being a leader. He seemed more like… she reached for her experiences, and noticed that he seemed more like the manager of a store than a leader. "Understood, sir." There was little to say to him that would fit what she expected him to look for outside of complete following. She didn't like it, but she would do what she had to. She had signed the contract, after all. She wanted this… didn't she?

"Good. I'm glad you know how this works. You were our last boarder. We'll be preparing to shove off in just a few minutes. I'll be remaining here to oversee the jump. Commander Lasky will continue the inbriefing with you in a separate briefing room, update your clearance level, and set you up with whatever else is needed." A glance at Lasky, and Lasky nodded to the Captain. "Dismissed, Spartans."

The two saluted once again, and Del Rio returned it before he turned back to the holotable and Lasky stepped forward, gesturing back towards the door. He led the way out, and almost immediately into another room to the side. With the door shutting behind them again, Lasky stopped at a briefing table, next to one of the walls and with seats facing the wall and table in a semi circle around it.

He started to speak, looking to Palmer. "Spartan Palmer, thank you for your work in getting the Commander up to speed, but that'll be all we need from you for now. You're dismissed."

Palmer saluted, her heels clicking together this time. "Sir." With that, she dropped her salute and was gone back out the door as if she'd never been there.

Morgan looked back to Lasky, the commander going on. "You're really taking the whole 'big shoes to fill' and throwing them out the door, Commander."

"Sir?"

"I'm saying that there's really no other Spartan better for the job, at least not that we have access to."

"So I've been told, sir."

Lasky shook his head. "Please, call me Tom. You've done more than I'll likely ever hope to do, and rank permits it. I feel a little more comfortable that way, at least." He gave a half smile that showed in his eyes a little, and Morgan narrowed her eyes the smallest bit. There it was.

Lasky should have been in charge of the ship, had she had any say in it. But she didn't. Either way, Lasky seemed more like a leader than the managerial style of Del Rio, and that was enough for her to know she would follow Lasky until he showed reason not to.

"Alright… Tom."

His smile grew a little bit more, and he gave her a nod, gesturing to the two seats nearest the front. "Take a seat, this might take a while."

Moving for one of the seats first, he called out. "Monsoon, prep recording, inbrief, 1407, ship standard time, June 17th, 2557."

"Aye sir, recording started, all relevant files and procedures ready for currency update of Commander Morgan Bailey in preparation for assuming command of Infinity Spartan Detachment, henceforth INFSPARCOM."

The artificial voice was immediate, and Lasky relaxed back into the chair as Morgan frowned, looking at the chair, afraid of it not being able to hold her weight. "Relax, commander. These chairs were designed with Spartans in mind. It'll hold you just fine."

Morgan nodded, and sat in the chair slowly, relaxing once the chair failed to make any sound or creak that it would collapse.

"Ready to get started?" He asked, looking over at her with that smile that showed he was resigned to going through the procedure. Nobody liked updating clearances or preparing a new command.

"I'm ready," she replied.

"Let's get this over with then."

Chapter Text

"Audere Est Facere" (To Dare is To Do)

- Motto, UNSC Infinity.

Three weeks had passed since Morgan Bailey had stepped back into a suit of Mjolnir and took on her Spartan title once again like regaining a championship belt. The days had passed with her growing familiar with the workings of an actual command position, meeting her new staff, learning all of the different fireteams and their roles, and merely trying to get back into touch with life as a soldier.

She had spent several days each week, randomly picking times and days to join in on War Games scenarios with each team that was operating at the time, taking the time to learn their strengths and weaknesses, showing ways to improve, and then getting her stride back by beating them into the ground as she had once been on Onyx during her training.

More than once, a fireteam member had made jokes or been a tease, before being shut up by their leader. Morgan was always keen to play along, as if she was worried they might best her. That was always when she pulled no blows, broke out every trick and cheating strategy, and reminded the Spartans that they were still soldiers, still fallible, and arrogance would only breed defeat.

Rumor had spread by now that she was all that her personnel file had stated and leagues more. There was nothing in the files about the Ark, about the Flood, Halo, any of it, but the words 'Hyper Lethal" were enough to grab their eyes and attention. She was fine with letting them believe what they wanted about her, but she wouldn't let them step onto the battlefield from this point on without knowing at least some of her old tips and tricks.

Sitting in her office in only a tech suit, she was going through another report on Fireteam Horizon, and their recent runs of the War Games simulator against Fireteam Pleiades. There were a few kinks to work out, but ultimately a solid showing that left the two teams at a draw more often than not. She would need to work through them soon.

Sitting back in the chair she had claimed as her own, she stretched and grunted, her eyes glancing over at the digital frame that she had picked up from the onboard assemblers and commissioned Monsoon's help to fill it. Inside, a picture of Hocus sat, the pilot giving a surprised, confused look. Monsoon had said something or another that had caught the woman off guard and quickly snapped the picture. It was far from flattering, but Morgan smiled all the same.

The sound of a ping signaled someone at her door, and she called out to enter. Sarah Palmer stepped in, though she was wearing her armor this time. The white armor was a stark coloration to the rest of the Spartans, and the red symbols on it only highlighted her, making her stand out from the pack when gathered.

Morgan brought her fingers together, entwining them as she remained leaning back in her chair. "Palmer, what can I do for you?" She asked. Ceremony and formalities had been tossed out the window quickly, the two Spartans having formed a working relationship and what might have been a shallow friendship so far, and found that they worked better together without worrying about the formality that others, like Del Rio, clung to when it was unnecessary.

"Wanted to see if you were up for a little wager, commander. Fireteam Tequila said that you wiped the floor with them and hearing that, well… Vegas was looking for a proper fight. See if you were all that and more for themselves."

Morgan snorted, her eyes narrowing. "And you didn't let them in on the secret?"

Palmer's eyes flashed as she stopped at the front of the desk, crossing her arms, her helmet hung on her belt. "You've proven everyone else wrong, why let Vegas miss out on the surprise?"

"Fair point." Morgan's lips turned up into a shallow smile. A glance at her terminal, and taking in the time, she nodded. "I can spare a few matches, but we'll be doing things my way. When you get to the simulation field, requisition four chambers, interlaced, my authority. I'll get suited up and be down there in… fifteen."

"Yes ma'am. Arsenal restrictions?"

"Free. Vegas is one of the best, right? We'll see if that's the truth or not." Green eyes looked up, meeting brown. There was a fire in those green eyes that hadn't been seen in ages, and Palmer's smile faltered for only a moment, before she concealed the hesitation.

"Alright, wanna make a bet on it then?"

"A bet? Palmer, I'll take your money, but is that a good idea?"

"Maybe, maybe not. It might sting a bit more to lose some money, but nowhere near as bad as their pride if we lose. Are you bringing any of the other teams with you?"

"Negative. Just me. I'll brief you when I get down there. Until then, make sure to use your time wisely."

Palmer nodded and turned to leave, stepping out of the office and making her way off towards the simulation area, already calling her team as her helmet slipped onto her head.

Alone, Morgan sat for a few moments, before she called out. "Monsoon."

The AI was quick to pop up on a small pedestal on her desk, rain droplets pattering off of her coat. "Yes, commander."

"Push back my meetings by about two hours. Inform Spartan August he's up until I return."

"Yes, ma'am." With that, the little AI disappeared, but she wasn't gone.

Standing from her desk, Morgan made her way down to the armor rigging area, and stepped into her rig. Techs had her up and running in just a few minutes, and she stepped out ready to go with her helmet on her belt. Bypassing armories and other locations, Morgan made straight for the simulation chambers.

Entering the first, where Palmer was waiting with the rest of Vegas, Morgan got an eyeful of all of them. All wearing white armor, but only Palmer had the red symbols. Four team members stood next to her, all wearing some variation of the scout or recon helmets, all GEN2 designs. Vegas was a pathfinder team, meant to be forward deployed to clear the way for friendly forces, and doubled as intelligence and recon, or overwatch if needed.

Her eyes passed over their loadouts. At least one of the recon helmeted Spartans was holding onto a sniper rifle, a pair of magnums on Palmer's hips, another wearing a scout helmet was holding a shotgun with an SMG on their hip, and the last two were carrying battle rifles, one each wearing scout or recon. Otherwise, their armor was all the same.

Palmer gave Morgan a look, one that was transmitted through her visor. "Ma'am? You gonna grab a weapon?"

"Negative, Palmer. I'll be getting mine on site. Briefing is coming so listen up." She moved over to a nearby terminal that controlled the simulation, already linked by techs as she had asked. On it, she started inputting commands to fix the scenario as she wished. "I'll be playing OPFOR for all of you. You'll need to make it through five klicks of heavy forest and into a waiting dropship. Native flora and fauna are hazards, and can slow you down or be used as bait or traps. You'll have an hour and a half to get from the start to the finish line. Only one of you has to make it there. Any questions?"

She could see helmets turning and almost feel the confusion radiating off of them. One Spartan, the one with the sniper, spoke up That was O'Hara. "Ma'am, if you're going in without weapons, are you going to find them in the forest?"

"You could say that," she responded, a smirk coming onto her lips.

The Spartan nodded slowly, unsure of whether to ask another question. One of her comrades spoke up. "If we have an hour and a half, five klicks isn't all that much, even in a heavy woodland."

"Are you sure about that, Spartan?"

"Uh… yes, ma'am. Positive."

"Good, if you had said anything else, I'd have been worried."

Once again, nothing else came out, and she could almost see the minute movements as they spoke to each other inside of their helmets. Palmer was the only one left. Even she seemed confused, and a little on edge now.

"Still interested in that bet, Palmer?" Morgan asked, green eyes settling on the white armored Spartan.

"No, ma'am. I think I'll try another time."

"Understood. If there's nothing left, get ready to begin. You have five minutes to get a plan sorted out inside of the simulation's start point. Only rule in this simulation is you can't leave the starting area, ten meters by ten meters squared, until time has begun. I'll be starting somewhere within a square kilometer around you, with your starting area being the center of that zone. It can be behind you, to your sides, or even above you, so don't rule anything out. I expect your best out there, Spartans. You've only gotta avoid me and get to extract, and I don't even have a weapon. Shields and armor are standard levels. Dismissed."

With that, Morgan slid her helmet on and stepped out of their line of sight, disappearing into one of the corridors that led to another location. Moments later, the simulation began with a loud beep, and a simulated forest surrounded them, before the sounds of the ship were taken away and replaced by the sounds of the forest.

Spartan Sarah Palmer grimaced as she realized her time had already started, and she started to regret taking this challenge. "Fireteam Vegas, form up. We don't have much time, but we've been through this before. Maybe not this forest in particular, but we're no strangers to the woods, right?"

A chorus of no ma'am. "Thought so. We'll be moving together, loose formation. Point man's dance, we'll be going off of Manning's tune." With a point, she pointed out Manning, the Spartan holding one of the battle rifles and wearing a scout helmet. "After will be Gordon, myself, O'Hara, and then Rani in the rear. Staggered column, ten meter spacing."

One of the Spartans holding the battle rifles, wearing a recon helmet, spoke up. Her accent was an older British one. "Are we really all that worried about the commander? I mean she doesn't even have a weapon to use against us. How does she plan on stopping our whole squad?"

Palmer frowned. "Honestly? I have no idea, I don't like it one bit. She stomped a mudhole in the other teams that have gone up against her in normal scenarios where it's just a take and hold. This is new, and I have not a single doubt that she's got something really sketchy planned, so stay on your toes."

Once again, they all shared looks among each other, muttering quietly into their mics about something that may or may not happen. Palmer's frown deepened. Just the situation itself was putting them on edge, and they were never like this. Doubts were creeping in.

"Alright cut the chatter. If it's not an idea of how to move forward, stow it. I don't need second guessing. This is our chance to shine and show up the rest of the teams. If we fail, not too big a deal since everybody else that's gone up against her has, but if we win, then we'll have bragging rights for months."

They all nodded. She spent the rest of the time going over possible situations, but even if she had an hour, it wouldn't be enough to prepare against the commander. They had seen her in action before, but never gotten the chance to face off against her themselves. She never made a habit of using the same strategy or tactics, no patterns. Even if she had went in with a shotgun every time, sometimes she used it for bait, sometimes for fighting, sometimes to bludgeon people with it, and sometimes not at all.

The simulation room sent a large chime through the air, and Palmer's heart rate spiked for a second. "Time's up, Vegas. Let's move!"

Taking her two magnums in hand, she took up her position in the center of the formation, eyes already scanning and her motion tracker active. In the distance, she heard a flock of birds take flight and knew that they were being hunted already. Eerie silence filled the forest, and she took in the details of the time and weather.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was creeping through the trees in just a way that meant plenty of places were lit up by an amber ray of light, and others were shaded, or even completely dark. There were no clouds that she could see, no rain, no fog, just purely clear air. That was almost worse. Their clean line of sight just meant that the commander would have the same benefits. The only advantage they had over her was that they would be carrying weapons and capable of fighting back immediately, while she would be trying to sneak up on them and capture or 'kill' them.

Still, that didn't mean it was a walk in the park, and none of them were truly prepared to fight her, a hero of the Human-Covenant War in more ways than one.

Their journey through the forest was without fanfare or events, outside of the random animal scurrying into the undergrowth, but it kept them all on edge. Every sound, every movement, could be the commander, ready to come down on them all like a sack of hammers and cave all their skulls in.

Even then, they still made good time, and within ten minutes, they'd cleared a kilometer with no sign of her. Their guards stayed up, none of them speaking or breaking the silence in any way. Motion trackers were set to fifty meters, looking for the telltale signs of a red icon that would point her out to them.

Another half a kilometer, and Palmer felt that sense of dread in her gut. Glancing to her left, she looked into a clearing through the trees, and for an instant, she thought she saw the reflection of light on a golden visor, and her weapons came up, only for a ray of light to be seen through her sights.

Her breath was in her throat, and she still felt that sense of dread, felt a pair of hostile eyes on the back of her helmet.

"Palmer? What's going on?" Manning's heavy voice in her ear, his words worried as he halted his forward momentum at the sound of her turning.

"I'm seeing things. Keep moving. The less time we spend stopped, the less time for her to hone in on us."

Manning sent a green status light and started moving again, but something came that had them all pointing their weapons up and in that same direction. A loud crack sounded, and in the area where Palmer had seen something, parts of a tree's bark came off in shards, having been turned to shrapnel by a stone that had been hurled at it hard enough to ricochet towards them and land at their feet.

"Shit." Palmer breathed the words out loud, her comm not picking them up as she made a circular motion with one of her hands, Vegas fanning out and choosing their sectors in an instant to prepare for contact.

A flurry of movement and Rani shouted out. "Contact!" Her battle rifle fired into the bushes, but the sound of rounds pinging off of a shield never came, instead hissing into the underbrush and bringing a squeal. She had killed an animal, the animal in question being little more than a realistic representation as it disappeared from the simulation to respawn elsewhere in an instant.

Palmer's breathing had picked up as she scanned the area quickly, even pushing her motion tracker out another fifty meters, but still there was nothing. No red dots among the small yellow ones.

"Get it in gear, she knows where we are, and we can't stay her. Cover every few seconds, make sure to check for each other just as often in case she grabs one of us somehow."

A group of green lights and they were in motion again, Palmer scanning their left occasionally, waiting for another rock to come sailing in and-

There it was. Another loud crack, and she started scanning for shrapnel and an incoming rock, but she was too late. In the rear of the formation, a thud came. O'Hara had been hit in the helmet with the rock, impacting against the rear hard enough to collapse her shields. She grunted and stumbled, going to the ground and taking a knee before collapsing. Rani was quick to bend and grab her as the rest of the squad fell back at Palmer's shouted order, firing at whatever movement they saw in irregular staccato bursts.

Another rock came sailing in from further to the right, this time hitting Palmer's gauntlet hard enough to cause pain and send her magnum flailing into a bush. There was no time to search for it. "Grab O'Hara, break contact, now!"

She gave the order and Rani picked the downed team member up and threw the other Spartan over her shoulder before taking her own weapon in one hand and leading the way out of their ambush.

Palmer and the rest fell in behind her, covering their retreat while moving quickly. She wasn't too worried about losing the magnum. It only had a single magazine and that wouldn't be enough to finish them, but given that she'd just hurled a rock hard enough to break O'Hara's shields and drop her, Palmer worried that it might be the end of them.

They made a quick getaway, and no more rocks came sailing in. This time, Palmer took up the rear, watching behind them for movement or for the commander to move in and try to find the magnum if she had seen it go flying.

Eventually, the ambush site disappeared behind them, concealed by trees and foliage. Turning around, she checked their route. A waypoint in the distance showed there were only three kilometers left to go, and they had an hour left. O'Hara still hadn't recovered from the impact. She was likely concussed. It wasn't really slowing them down, but nobody wanted to carry a whole Spartan for this long. They would need to switch out eventually. Even if she hadn't 'killed' O'Hara, the commander was slowing them down even more than if she had done away with the woman.

They continued on for a while, once again without contact, and it made Palmer's heart race as she led her squad through the forest, being hunted by their greatest challenge so far. They were used to doing the hunting, but now they were the biggest game, the prey that fought back.

Even now, they were capable of traipsing through the woods without making a sound, perfectly good at stealth and concealment, but they were fighting against a woman that knew everything they did and more, and had years of experience under her belt as a Spartan in some of the hardest fought battles in Human history.

A crack in the distance, a stick breaking, likely an animal, but could just as well be the commander trying to cover her tracks. Palmer watched, and they kept moving, until she turned her eyes away. Rani had taken up the second position, and switched off carrying O'Hara with Gordon before moving to the rear behind Palmer, and Manning kept point.

Another crack, and a boar came running out of the woods at them, grunting and squealing as it charged at one of the Spartans. A curse, and Palmer pulled up her magnum, unloading into the beast. It took several rounds before it went down and slid to a halt.

"Sound off, we all good?"

Green lights from Gordon and Manning, O'Hara was still on Gordon's shoulder. She waited for Rani's light to shine, but it never did, and looking behind her, the Spartan was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had vanished, save for the twin trails where heavy armor had been dragged through the underbrush.

Palmer cursed and followed them, only for the trails to disappear after ten meters without a trace. A drop of sweat beaded on her forehead, wicked away by the helmet, and she grimaced before running back to her squad. "Commander got Rani, we need to move, now. She has access to a battle rifle at least, likely tapped comms, and whatever load Rani was carrying on her. Switch to status lights only, hand signals can be seen and interpreted."

The other two sent amber lights back, but kept moving. Palmer kept up the rear, Manning leading, and Gordon was carrying O'Hara. Palmer dare not leave the downed woman behind. That would look even worse than failure, and personally, she wouldn't do it. It was against everything she knew. Even if she was downed, better to be dead weight than dead.

While O'Hara had definitely been taken down by the impact, the simulation shutting down her armor as a method of immersion, Palmer was worried that she might actually have gotten injured after such a hit. But it wouldn't be the first time any of them had been hurt in a simulation or exercise.

They were halfway there, and the timer was ticking down, reminding her every second that there was only so much time for them to escape and claim their victory, but with how quickly two of her Spartans had been taken down by someone they hadn't even seen, she was rapidly losing confidence in their odds. They wouldn't give up, but she doubted they would win at this rate.

Once again, some time went on without an attack or even a sighting of the blue armored Spartan. How she could blend into the green foliage in blue colored armor and a reflective golden visor, she had no idea. They were all taught to be concealable in any terrain, regardless of their armor color or equipment, but she was like a damned ghost, and a big one at that.

There wasn't much to the challenge, she had thought. Just skirt through the woods and shoot the commander whenever she appeared, but she had been so very wrong. A knot in her gut was coiling up, and she hated the feeling. She hadn't felt like this in years, always confident in her abilities and that of her team. It had always been a face to face fight against the Covenant, and they were easy enough to take down with a squad of veterans. Even other Spartans were a match, only slightly better or worse depending on the situation, and capable of being felled. But this was a whole other experience, one that worried her, but reminded her that the commander had earned her title completely.

A snap and her head whipped around, spotting Manning falling forward onto his face. His hands came out with the shotgun on the ground, bracing himself and already starting to come back up when a staccato burst came from their right, several rounds impacting the Spartan's side. Their rifles were burst fire or single fire only, but it sounded like this rifle was being fired on full auto, and she whipped around to cover, already giving the order to fire at the figure that had been spotted finally, little more than a shadow in the foliage, highlighted by the muzzle flash of her stolen rifle.

As soon as a round hit her, the commander's shield flashed and she dropped one hand from her rifle's stock, snapping the hand to her hip, and then back up with a pistol in hand, firing as fast as the slide would rack and slot a new round into place. The heavy slugs came in like hail, hitting Palmer in the face and head and snapping it back before she dropped and tucked into a roll for cover.

Her shields wailed loudly in her ears, and her breathing was heavy. That had been close. It had almost been like a laser had turned on her and put rounds on target without an issue in an instant. The deedle deedle of her shields finally stopped and hummed back to full strength before finally beeping as it reached full charge. Popping out again, her magnum was up and she searched for her target, but the commander was gone.

Her Spartans moved into a circle around her, O'Hara being left in a bush to keep her safe from more direct fire as they all went back to back. Manning was favoring one side, showing he had been hit. Palmer glanced back for a second, before looking back to her sights, scanning the forest. "Manning, status!"

"She got me good! Right side, abdomen, at least one round penetrated." There had been no actual penetration, and the armor was still perfectly fine, but the simulation had caused the gel layer to stiffen as if he had actually been hit, and lock up to simulate a wound that would make it harder to move.

Another curse under her breath and Palmer glanced at O'Hara. "O'Hara, you up yet?"

There was no response. She had been wounded, of course, and knocked out from the hit earlier, but Palmer had no idea if the other woman was considered 'dead' yet or not. Moving forward, she dropped low to the ground and checked the other woman, shaking her to see if she would respond, even triggering a stimulant to see if she would get back on her feet, but nothing worked. Checking the squad vitals, O'Hara had been flatlined and was now considered KIA.

"Fuck!" Palmer scurried back to her squad, flashing a red light twice, an amber once, and a green twice. Their status was plain to see. The commander was picking them apart piece by piece, letting them relax ever so slightly, going longer periods before engaging again on her own terms, ambushing them any chance she got. At this rate, they might make it to the end point, but only one of them would be able to make it, if that. Even if she didn't outright drop all of them, she could slow them all down and force a time out, ending in her victory, or cripple them in some way.

Her breathing was coming faster as she tried to picture how to go about this. There was no way to properly entrench in the forest with the commander coming from any direction, no way to set up fields of fire and survive to the end while succeeding, all they could truly do would be to make a sprint for it and hope to outpace her, but that was careless. It would be easy to ambush them in a sprint. No matter how prepared she thought she had been, there was nothing that could be done to the commander. But she wouldn't surrender or give up.

Turning on her helmet speakers, she kept the volume low. "We need to leave, now, or she's going to hit us again very soon. We keep up our forward momentum, fighting retreat. We can't keep stopping every time she attacks or we'll get grabbed like Rani did. We keep taking hits and she'll cripple us."

Gordon grunted behind her. "Not like I had any better ideas. What about O'Hara's body?"

"We leave it. Nothing to be done. Trigger the failsafe and see if she goes for the sniper rifle. Set a trap and see if it catches her while we haul ass out of here."

There was a failsafe in all Mjolnir armor that was to be used in case of a Spartan casualty that couldn't be carried or evacuated. When a Spartan was killed, the reactor pack was set on a runaway process that would cause it to go up like a small nuke, vaporizing anything within 30 meters. It would be set by a timer, usually, but there was no telling when the commander would come. Either she came too early and got the rifle and survived, came too late and ignored it, or was just in time and got vaped. In the simulation, it would cause an explosion, but wouldn't outright cause any damage.

"Cover." Palmer sent her order and dove for the body, dragging it a little further out. "Sorry, O'Hara, gonna have to nuke you." The woman in the armor was forced to be limp until the simulation was over, or the techs pulled her out manually. After the detonation, she would be pulled out when all participants were a certain distance away. While she couldn't respond, Palmer knew the other woman heard her.

Setting the timer for 120 seconds, Palmer ignored the sniper rifle in the bushes, as if she hadn't seen it, and stood. "Move!" She took up the rear of their formation, Gordon and Manning moving ahead as they spread into a staggered wedge formation, Palmer taking the right side, a few feet back from Gordon, who took the left, a few feet to the rear of Manning. It would prevent them from getting trapped in one go.

She counted down the seconds in her head as they closed on their objective, the meters ticking down quickly as long, augmented legs ate up the distance. 30 seconds. 15 seconds. 5 seconds. Zero.

The detonation shook the trees, and a flash behind them was bright enough that it cast their shadows ahead of them, even with trees in the way for the most part. When the light faded, Palmer waited for the simulation to end, but it never did, and she cursed again. The commander had escaped her trap, and they were still forced to be on the run. Two klicks left, and 45 minutes remained on the timer. They had plenty of time left, theoretically, but the attacks would only get worse from here on out.

Their journey continued on for a time, all of them scanning their sectors and waiting for that ghost to come out and haunt them again, waiting to be picked off by a well placed barrage of rounds from a battle rifle or the single high powered sniper round that would drop them. But before anything came, Manning slowed for a second, flashing his red status light rapidly.

Ahead of them, directly in their path of movement, a stick was shoved into the ground like a mount, and on it, O'Hara's helmet was mounted on it.

A sharp intake of breath, and Palmer flashed her own red light back in response, before flashing the amber three times. Carry on, show caution.

It was like the commander was toying with them, using not only proper strategy and tactics, but screwing with their minds, letting them know that she had managed to get to O'Hara in time to not only take her helmet, but likely find the sniper rifle too. Palmer continued on past the helmet, making sure to keep a wide berth, in case it was booby trapped, and they made it past without any issues. Still, no fire came in on them, no explosions, no traps, nothing. The helmet disappeared behind them as if it had never been there in the first place, and Palmer still felt that sensation she was being watched.

Not even Brute Stalkers or Elite Special Ops had ever made her feel like this, and they had been actively cloaked. The difference was that she could deal with them. They had established doctrines, had patterns and technological weaknesses that could be exploited. The commander, on the other hand, only had her armor and whatever she had managed to steal off of their casualties.

This wasn't even a real combat operation for Christ's sake! She needed to control herself. If the commander got her on edge, she would make even more mistakes, slip up again without a doubt, and that would be the end of it.

Taking a deep breath, Palmer sent out another series of status lights, giving the command to pick up the pace, but keep themselves ready for anything. Manning checking for traps, with Palmer and Gordon glancing between their sides and the front to make sure nothing was dangling down or ready to clothesline Manning. They would be ready for her next time.

Another half a kilometer of travel and Palmer tensed up. It was about that time again, and she sent an amber status light out, getting two green lights in reply. They were feeling like she was, and she prepared to fight.

50 meters passed by, then a hundred, and nothing, causing the Spartan to frown, and she felt frustration creep in again. No attack, no traps, no signs that the commander had been anywhere near here.

"Palmer, isn't it about time she tried something?" Gordon asked, not looking back at her as his weapon swept the area again, ready to open fire at the drop of a hat.

"Quiet, don't jinx us anymore than we already are. Less chatter, more looking." Palmer was quick to order his doubts down, and Gordon didn't respond. Looking to the right again, she made a full circle, looking to the rear, and then the trap was sprung.

The vapor trail of a 14.5x114mm round passing through the air was visible to her heightened eyes, and time slowed down as Palmer watched the round sail in from the rear and impact on Gordon's helmet, sending him down in slow motion. She reacted without thinking. "Sniper!"

Time sped up again, and she dove behind a tree as another round was fired, ricocheting off of the tree and sending splinters and large chunks of wood through the air as it bounced off and screamed into the dirt with a large puff. Looking over at Manning, he had tucked into the cover of another tree, several bushes blocking his line of sight. Gordon still lay in the dirt, crumpled from the deadly hit that he had taken. Had it been a real situation, the man's helmet would have been turned into a soup bowl. Not even GEN2 shields could take a hit and stop all of the energy of a high caliber weapon like that. A shot to the chest would hurt like a bitch, but you'd survive, usually. A headshot was an instant death sentence.

"Gordon's gone!" She called out to Manning and saw his helmet, a scout model, look back at her, the blue visor emotionless, but she could feel the question behind it. "We're gonna have to split up and haul ass, hope that she can't catch both of us in time. That's the only way we're getting out of this with a victory," she called, more than aware of the eerie quiet that followed the twin sniper shots.

"We don't have much of a choice!" He returned her sentiment, and dropped the shotgun, taking his SMG and making sure it was loaded and ready. "Trade me!"

She was quick to oblige, and her pistol went sailing over to him with the mags she had left. The SMG went across next, and she was locked and ready to go with more than just her magnum. Two was a party, one was a bad time.

"Ready?" A nod. "Break!" She gave the order and she was up and moving to the right of where they had been heading, scattering into the forest, but no fire came in while she displaced. Manning went in the other direction, likely moving just as fast as she was and trying to cut down the distance on the objective as much as he could. If either of them were attacked, they would try and distract the commander as much as possible, hopefully let the other get away in time.

Her heart was starting to race now, as she picked up speed and moved around trees, jumped over roots and stones, and ducked under low branches. There was no other option. All of her training and strategies had been exhausted with the commander's assaults, and her Spartans had been taken out like rookies. They were all trained veterans, former special forces operators, and with more than one battle under their belts. But nobody was ready to see the tactical prowess of a real Spartan turned against them. Marines had always made jokes about being glad that Spartans were on their side, and Palmer had thought that becoming a Spartan would make her just as good, if not better. Now she could see she had been naive in the face of what was a Greek God, and she was merely the likes of Achilles. Powerful, well trained, and capable in every sense, but the commander was a whole other league.

In the distance, as the objective loomed only a kilometer away, she heard the crack of a battle rifle, and the return fire of a shotgun. Several exchanges went past, before the end of it left the forest in silence once more. A shot from both weapons had come simultaneously. There was no telling who had won.

"Manning!" She called out to him on their channel. "Manning, status!"

Nothing came for a time, until she heard the sound of the commander's voice, emotionless and cold, different from what Palmer had known so far. "One left."

Palmer grit her teeth and cut the channel, slamming her chin against the helmet controls to turn off all of her transmissions gear, from the GPS-analogue to the radar and comms gear. All that was left was the passive method that the motion tracker used to look for enemies and allies alike.

She came to a break in the trees, spotting a Pelican sitting in the middle of a large clearing. She had two hundred meters to go, and she grunted, pushing herself as hard as she could, giving it everything she had left, and then the red blip appeared on her motion tracker at the rear.

Struggling to bite back a whine, Palmer knew she'd never make it across that much open ground, no matter how evasive she got. With her victory all but disintegrating in her hands, she turned on her heel and dug it into the ground, sliding a short distance while she brought the SMG up, and she barely had time to come face to face with the demon that had been chasing her and her team for the last hour, wiping them out one by one.

The rattle of its report went up, echoing off of the trees, and the reflection of its muzzle flash appeared in both visors, for only a moment, before a blue armored hand came up quickly and pushed it away, the shields on the commander flaring as her other hand came up in an open palm and struck Palmer's chest plate.

Morgan was quick to push the advantage, now finally out in the open and being taken in by Palmer's eyes as she was pushed back. The blue armored Spartan had a shotgun and a battle rifle strapped to her back, but neither would be all that useful here. Stepping forward, Morgan continued to strike at Palmer's chest plate, trying to knock the wind out of her or even knock her down for a finisher.

Palmer was able to dodge most of the strikes, but there was no chance to pull the SMG back up for any meaningful amount of fire. Leaping back and dodging as far as she could, she reared back and hurled the SMG at the commander, hoping to distract her long enough for an opening.

Morgan's left hand came up and swatted it away, the weapon going careening off into the bushes before she ducked low and pushed off the ground as hard as she could, tackling Palmer and grabbing her by the midsection before charging forward and slamming her into the trunk of a massive tree.

Palmer started to beat at Morgan's back with her elbows, both of their shields flaring, before one of Morgan's arms came up and blocked the next blow, rapidly shifting to hold Palmer's arm in her armpit, and then she pulled.

Palmer felt white hot pain fill her skull as her shoulder was dislocated. Her free arm struggled, grabbing at the shotgun that was on Morgan's back and yanking, but it was too long, and she had no way to get it into position to fire, so she grabbed it by the pump and slammed the stock into Morgan's back.

A grunt came from the blue armor, but Palmer didn't hear it. Trying again, Morgan released her, and backed up just in time to avoid the second strike. Yanking the battle rifle from its place on her back, she pushed forward again, jamming the barrel into Palmer's midsection, close enough that the shields were unable to cover, and pulled the trigger.

Palmer felt the armor seize up, and more pain filled her gut, but it was gone as soon as it'd come, and with a blaring alarm, the simulation ceased and fell apart around them.

Morgan and Palmer stood transfixed, two visors glaring at each other, before Morgan pulled the battle rifle back and slung it on her back. Without a word, the other woman reached up and grabbed Palmer's shoulder, resetting it and causing Palmer to hiss in pain, before Morgan backed up and pulled her helmet off.

Her hair was messy, her eyes were wild, and her chest plate was rising and falling quickly, as if she was out of breath. Palmer dropped the shotgun, removing her helmet and dropping to the floor in a seated position.

Neither said anything for a while, only the sound of their rushed breathing coming for a time. Palmer broke the silence. "Looks like- like you win- Commander."

Morgan chuckled, the sound more like a hurried series of breaths than an actual laugh. "Told you- I would," she replied, taking a seat herself and raising her arms above her head to get a lungful of air.

Their lungs finally started to slow down, and their breathing went back to normal, leaving the two sitting on the ground and looking each other over. Palmer spoke up. "Didn't expect all that, honestly."

"What, being tracked like that?"

"Not exactly. I knew you'd track us no problem. Not hard for any Spartan to track, but being able to steal Rani out from under us with that boar acting as a distraction. How'd you even manage that?"

"Rocks are my friend when it comes to scaring things. I wasn't very far from you when I threw it. Thermals let me spot the boar, threw the rock behind it, and it came charging at your group thinking it was being penned in. After that, I made my move. Hit the underside of her helmet below the neural interface and knocked her out." Morgan looked back towards the observation area overlooking the place. "Techs dragged her off after that. She might still be unconscious, but she'll be fine."

Palmer frowned, humming. "I didn't think we'd be that easy to take down. We didn't even see you until you engaged us the third time."

Morgan gave a grin. "Only because I let you see me. You're unlucky in that you didn't challenge me my first few times back. Took some time to really get used to the flow of combat again, but… it's all muscle memory and instinct at this point."

Boots sounded on the deck, and Palmer looked up at the approaching Spartans, all with their helmets by their sides. None looked too happy at their first loss of the tour, but they would live. Only O'Hara was absent, being looked over by medics most likely. Palmer would be next to ensure that her shoulder was set properly, and it wouldn't be too long. A pair of them followed closely behind the gang of Spartans, looking far too small compared to the heavily armored soldiers.

A deep breath, and Palmer rose to her feet, feeling at her shoulder. There was no pain, but that wouldn't matter. The two medics closed and one reached for a tool from the bag hanging from his waist, pulling out a small handheld terminal that he plugged into her neural interface port.

After a few moments, he scanned the diagnostics readout that came from the armor and nodded. Putting the tool back in the bag, he pulled a small packet from a pocket inside the bag and held it out to her. "For the pain. Shoulder's fine, no problems. Report to medical if anything comes up."

It was almost like he was reading off of a script, the injury had been so minor for her. Spartan healing, even on the IVs, was still more than capable of dealing with any injuries with ease. Palmer started to pocket the packet, but she glanced over and saw a disapproving look from Morgan, who raised an eyebrow.

Frowning slightly, Palmer ripped the packet open and dumped the contents into her hand, taking a pair of capsules and looking back at Morgan, receiving a nod this time. Finally, Palmer turned toward her fully and gestured to her. "So, how'd we do overall?"

Morgan took a moment to think. "Good, all said and done. You almost made it. Had you split up in the beginning, it would have been far easier to take you out. Less trapping. One question though, Palmer: You ever lose a subordinate in the field?"

Palmer frowned, looking over at her squad, and saw that Manning's face had darkened, but the others looked to her. "No, ma'am, not one that was still breathing."

"You'll have to one day, and you'll have to get used to it, because it never lets up after."

Palmer's face contorted into one of confusion, and a little bit of anger, but Morgan's was emotionless, showing that same shadow that covered Manning's, but the lights were on and covering her face. "What, are you implying that I should have left O'Hara behind?"

"Yes."

It was as if she had been slapped, and the goodwill that had been between them felt like it evaporated in an instant. Palmer started to respond, but Manning spoke up.

"She's right, Palmer. Much as I hate to say it…"

Palmer whirled on Manning. "Why? All of our time in the Corps and we get it beat into our skulls 'no man left behind', now I'm being told none of it matters?"

Manning was more controlled in his response. "No, ma'am. Just that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. O'Hara slowed us down, kept one of our guns out of action. Only purpose she served in the entire simulation was as a trap that didn't even work."

"Manning has it right, Palmer. A mission where you have a wounded Spartan, or even a wounded Marine, is fine if you can break contact and reach friendly lines. This mission was not one of those. If you have a deadline, are being hunted and constantly harassed by superior forces, and you've got a Spartan that's ineffective, they're dead weight."

Morgan's eyes were locked onto Palmer's, and Palmer started to say something, only to have her teeth click together when she shut her mouth. No matter how wrong it felt, Palmer ran through it all and realized that the other woman was right, and she hated that.

Even as an ODST, Palmer had never just left someone behind until they were confirmed dead. Even then, tags and ammo were taken if nothing else, and a trap set. She had done exactly that, had tried to get all of her people out, and even used O'Hara as a trap to hopefully survive and deny the enemy access to her body or her armor.

But it still stung.

Morgan's face seemed to lose that darkened shade, and she took a deep breath. "Good work, Vegas, for what it's worth. Use this exercise to grow as a team and cover any weaknesses you see in the playback. We'll do it again some day and see if you win next time. Until then, use the rest of the day to go about business as usual. You're dismissed."

The rest of Vegas started to break up and return to the rigging facility, but Morgan called out to Palmer. "Palmer, stay here for a minute."

Palmer turned, her expression schooled, but her anger still simmering inside.

"You did good too. You did everything right." The other woman gestured to follow, and started moving. Palmer did as she was told. "But think about what I said. Talk with Manning about it. He seemed to understand where I was coming from. It's never easy to leave a comrade behind, alive or dead, but it has to be done sometimes or everyone gets wiped out and then it's all for nothing. Five people die instead of one."

Palmer was silent for a time, and Morgan let the silence hang as they walked back towards the rigging facility at a sedated pace. When she spoke up, the fire had left her words. "We shouldn't have to do that anymore. We aren't at war with the whole Covenant, worlds aren't getting glassed every other day. We're Spartans. We have the armor, the augmentations, the numbers to make a difference! We should be able to make it out of every mission with our comrades, and if not that, then their bodies too!" It was almost like she was pleading for it to be true.

Morgan started to respond, but sound never came out of her mouth, flooding into her mind instead as she stopped in place, eyes staring but not seeing.

Spartans never die, Jorge. They're just missin' in action.

"Hey!" Morgan's eyes refocused, and she saw Palmer's face in front of her, the woman's eyes searching, as if looking for something in the Spartan III's stare. "You alright?

Morgan nodded slowly, before nodding again, quicker, as if trying to lie her way through. "Yeah, I'm good. Just… thought of something familiar is all."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Morgan wasn't sure if she was positive. Were the old wounds threatening to reopen again? Scars being ripped apart and forcing her to relive her worst memories that she had tried her best to bury? Again, she tried to speak, but a chirp from her armor grabbed her attention, and she looked down at the TACPAD on her wrist. She had a message on her terminal, priority one, classification way above Top Secret. Frowning, she started moving again. "We'll talk more later, Palmer. Until then, get with your team, do a proper debrief, and take some time to mull it all over."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, Morgan left the other woman behind and jogged for her office, shutting and sealing the door behind her. Moving to sit in the chair, she called out to Monsoon again. "Monsoon, cut all surveillance to the room, including your own, until I've come out."

Monsoon didn't respond, but Morgan knew by now that the AI wasn't going to mess around and try something sneaky. The Navy, and ONI in particular, didn't want a snoopy AI on their flagship.

Waiting a few moments to ensure that everything had been done, Morgan opened her messaging system on her terminal, and opened a message at the top that was average and merely referenced Spartan training schedules and minor issues reported up from her chain. Leaning forward, she dropped her head to sit parallel with a small camera in the top of her terminal's monitor.

With a red scanning beam coming out of it, her eye was given a pass and she frowned at the discomfort. On the screen, a message that had been piggybacked and hidden deep within the code that had carried the letter, was pulled up on the screen.

The pyramid eye of the Office of Naval Intelligence stared back at her, and she swallowed. Nothing was there besides the symbol, and it slowly started to rotate as she waited. Something was happening.

After a moment, the symbol disappeared, and a woman came up in its place. Her hair was pulled back in a savagely tight bun, and not a single hair was out of place. Her features were strong and sharp, as if her facial bones and muscles had been put in place by a master sculptor. Keen eyes stared back through the camera, looking at Morgan as if she was a hunter, and Morgan felt that sickly feeling in her gut, even before her eyes caught sight of the ONI badge on the woman's uniform.

Admiral Serin Osman sat at her desk, in a nondescript room, with her hands on her desk, fingers interlaced, and grinned at Morgan.

"Commander, welcome back."

Chapter Text

"Hey, check it out!"

"No way… a Spartan!?"

"For real? You guys better not be shi-"

"No, man, I'm serious! She's here!"

- Wounded Marines upon seeing a Spartan returning to the battlefield after all reports stated they had been killed, 2552, Battle of Voi.

Green eyes roved over the document being displayed on the screen in the Infinity's primary briefing room. Morgan stood off to the side in her armor with her helmet off, crossing her arms and taking in every detail. Others sat in their assigned chairs, key members and heads of the different departments and units that would be most useful when the contents of the document were brought up.

Something had happened a few years back, involving a Forerunner artifact that had given a burst of data, deciphered as a set of coordinates for a Forerunner world or installation. Nobody knew exactly what it was, but contingency plans were always important. She felt for the officers that had to create plan upon plan when some of them – most of them – wouldn't work. Then again, they did sign up for it, so she couldn't offer too much pity.

A cursory glance around the room showed a multitude of personnel. Del Rio and Lasky in the front, on either side of the screen. Several men in lab coats sat in a group near the front, members of Infinity's science department.

Personnel wearing the fatigues of a marine ground commander, including a stocky colonel and his top NCO were near the middle, both taking notes. Another pair of men in the black fatigues of ODSTs were nearby, and her eyes roved over the face of an ODST captain and a more familiar face, one Master Sergeant Marcus Stacker. They had locked eyes in the beginning of the briefing, but had no time to talk or connect. She would catch him another time, when there was less preparation to do. Another set of officers and NCOs served as the ship's vehicle commanders, ready to operate the heavy machinery that was stored in the hangar in case of a massive assault that would require a mammoth. As far as she could tell, a brigade's worth of Marines were onboard, along with a battalion of ODSTs, at the least. Infinity could conduct a protracted ground war with those numbers alone.

Next, she caught sight of several pilots, wearing Navy and Marine flight suits. A commander in charge of the CAG, a couple of lieutenant commanders in charge of subunits and different squadrons, and the dropship corps, almost all piloted by Marines. She had seen Hocus in there somewhere, but they would speak later. Even now, she could see her wife taking notes and muttering to one of the other pilots about something, completely invested in the briefing.

Other, smaller departments were involved, such as engineering, but they were less likely to be needed, only attached to the briefing to be aware of a sudden change to combat operations if need be.

Finally, the Spartan Branch. That was her playing field. Behind her, Sarah Palmer stood quietly, taking notes of her own for Morgan. It had been a few weeks since the simulation with Vegas, and Palmer had simmered about the lesson that Morgan had tried to teach until it finally got completely through her head, and they returned to how things had been. If anything, Palmer had improved slightly as a fireteam leader in subsequent War Games simulations, and Morgan was pleased with progress, even if it wasn't too much. But, progress was progress.

Another teal colored Spartan was off to Palmer's right. Wearing the Atlas armor variant, the Spartan was bulky and cut an imposing figure slightly larger than Morgan's, even with her oversized pauldrons and angular chest piece. His helmet was on, reflecting the world through a visor that was a similar golden color to Morgan's own. While Palmer might have been one of her top fireteam leaders and a company level commander that would help with the later brief of the rest of the Spartans, Spartan Paul August was a dedicated staff member and operator for the Spartan Branch. He would also act as a member of Morgan's own fireteam should she ever need to actually deploy. Her days of running on her own were over again, but for how long, she had no idea.

During combat operations where she commanded from Infinity, he would be an operator, guiding fireteams on the ground and speaking with her voice, giving her orders when she was overseeing other elements of operations. But on the ground, when she stepped onto the field herself, he would be almost like a body guard more than a fighter, carrying a heavily modified SAW for Spartan use to pin enemies down while she closed and engaged with the enemy with her shotgun. There were others, but he was the best when it came to a mix of on and off the field operations on her staff.

Del Rio's voice droned on as he went to the next slide. "Coordinates from the artifact have been deemed by FLEETCOM to have some significance, and Infinity has been dispatched to observe and report findings after investigating whatever may be waiting for us. That being said, we're an estimated 12 hours out from our destination. Consider the location to be hostile, and move your units to REDCON 2, prepare to deploy immediately should the need arise."

He clicked onto the next slide, and started to open his mouth, when Monsoon appeared on the AI pedestal next to him. "Captain, sensors report a distress signal, standard UNSC frequency, but an older reporting code. It's the signal we picked up at our last course change."

Frowning, Del Rio's face changed, his ever present sneer only looking like he had been personally insulted by the AI's entrance to his briefing. "And?"

"Still investigating, but initial coordinates report it to be…" She stopped for a moment, an eternity in the time of an AI. "It's right on top of the coordinates for our artifact, sir."

Del Rio's sneer worsened, and he put his hands behind his back. "Understood. Commander Lasky, continue the briefing. I'll be returning to the bridge to oversee our approach."

Without another word or waiting for a response, Del Rio left the briefing room, and several people in the seats surrounding the room seemed a little more ill at ease, but they hid it well.

Lasky watched as the captain left, and he seemed to think for a moment, before continuing on as if nothing had happened. "REDCON 2. Independent briefings will be held, and you can act as you see fit to properly maintain readiness. Flight ops will prepare scheduled rotations for fighter support, at least one battalion of Marines will stand ready to deploy on Pelicans with light ground assets. ODSTs are on alert 5 until further notice. Operational posture will be kept at Radiant Spear, maintain high tempo operational capability for the next 24 hours or until posture change, whichever comes first. Any questions?" No hands were raised. Ultimately, all the commanders in the room had operational authority to handle anything minor. All that this briefing was for was to set the wide ranging application of force and readiness. How things progressed at a minute level would be up to the commanders themselves. "Good. Dismissed."

People started to stand and file out slowly, muttering to each other and finishing their notes before they left. Morgan locked eyes with Hocus at one point as the pilot turned to leave, but neither moved to talk. They hadn't had much time together since the tour had started. Maybe a couple hours in total over the last month or so. It wasn't optimal, but it got them a little bit of a reprieve when the days were done. All they really got to do anymore together was sleep, and even that was impossible some days.

Morgan tore her eyes away as her wife disappeared around the bulkhead leading out of the room, and looked back to August. "Get all that?"

His accent was Canadian, one quick to respond. "Yeah, boss. Already sent it to all the company commanders. They'll be doing their own briefings and coordinating to get all their ducks in a row for a multi-force deployment if need be."

"Very good. And staff?"

"Same thing. Already drawing up plans for larger operations and setting rotation for the companies."

Morgan nodded, almost to herself as she slipped her helmet back on. They would remain in their armor until contact and assume the worst, only leaving it when it was time to stand down. All 300 Spartans on Infinity were armed up and ready to fight at first notice.

She needed to return to the command center for the Spartans onboard, located near the main bridge, with an alternate location on S Deck, where the rigging facility was. Her staff would meet her there. They would act as operator personnel for teams on the ground or, in case of an operation where she had to deploy for some reason or another, they would deploy with her as her own fireteam, one she'd not yet dubbed. At that point, alternate personnel from the aft bridge would be brought into play in order to provide support for Spartan Operations with a direct line to Del Rio or Lasky as needed.

Lasky was still in the room, finishing looking over the briefing slides himself, but ever mindful of the three Spartans that had been left, speaking to each other in their helmets and standing as still as statues. When Morgan turned to see him, she thought of something, before looking to her two aides. Activating her helmet speakers, she spoke up. "Palmer, August, move out. Palmer can start briefing her team and company, and August, you'll take up the staff and prep them. Weapons loadouts, armor checks, and medical. Be ready to deploy before our time is up."

With two positive responses, the Spartans filed out, leaving Morgan with Lasky. He glanced over at her. "Commander. Can I help you with something?"

"Wanted to know more about the distress signal. We know any details on it or just coordinates?"

Lasky crossed his arms, turning to face her fully. "Just coordinates for now. Picked it up a couple hours ago when we dropped out of slipspace to change course, but seems like we're close enough now that Monsoon's got an idea of what it may or may not be." He shrugged, unsure of it himself. "We're sailing blind for the most part. No idea what's out there in the black."

"Understood."

"One last bit, before we break away. Spartans will be first boots on the ground, wherever this thing is. Pick a group of ten teams. They'll be our vanguard. Other than that, use your last few hours wisely. I'd like it if you spent the last three hours of our trip on the main bridge with us, give your insight into things and be ready to move to the Spartan bridge for immediate combat operations once we've got eyes on."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there."

"Good. I'll see you then, Spartan."

Morgan nodded and left without another word, making her way back down to S Deck, where her team was orchestrating the whole thing until she arrived. Spartan August was already in place, passing things on and getting the ball rolling. Palmer and other commanders were briefing in larger groups. The company structure was far looser than in a regular Marine company. It was only truly in place for organizational purposes. Otherwise, fireteams would deploy and act independently of each other and be handled by an operator as needed. Flexibility was key in Spartan operations.

Hours passed by as Morgan collected reports, plans, and got her staff together to plug everything into place in one larger plan. Updates came from Marine ground and air elements, and she implemented those too, slotting fireteams where they would be best, figuring out a schedule for deployment between teams that had similar functions, and ultimately making sure nobody would trip over each other.

Finally, the time came to return to the main bridge and conduct operations from there. Keying the comm for the rigging deck, she gave her orders. "All fireteams, commence final checks and inspections, report to hangars as ordered when complete." Releasing her mic, she looked at her staff.

"Rest of you, get to the Spartan bridge and get it set up for me to move there after. Castille, you're in charge until then. Grab gear prior just in case."

Spartan Helen Castille, a former combat surgeon in the Marines, nodded to her. "I'll get it done, ma'am." With that, she held her helmet up, the last piece of the dark naval blue colored Scanner variant armor. The visor attachment was pushed up for the time being, and she slid it onto her head before rapping her armored knuckles against the side, the signal for the rest to suit up. August and the two other members of her team donned their helmets as well, before they all filed out, with Morgan taking up the rear.

She peeled off from them early on, moving for the main bridge. They would gather her weapons and ammunition for her, knowing by now what she would carry and her preferences. It made it easier and faster than her going there as well. Until she met up with them again, though, she would be working with just the pistol on her thigh.

Stepping onto the bridge, her arrival caught Lasky's eyes, and several of the bridge crew, but they quickly went back to what they were doing. Morgan stepped up to the holographic table that Del Rio and Lasky were next to, looking at its contents. Del Rio had his face buried in it, and Lasky glanced up to her again.

"Any changes?" She was quick to get the situation into her mind.

Lasky nodded. "Our calculations were wrong. We're only an hour out from the coordinates now, and the distress signal shifted with it. We're picking it up through slipspace now."

An eyebrow raised in her helmet. "So it's capable of transmitting through slipspace?"

"Seems like it."

Morgan frowned. "Then we should have picked it up earlier."

Del Rio spoke up this time. "It doesn't change anything about our situation."

She was about to respond when a crewman called out. "Sir! We're getting distortion, but the signal is clear enough that we're able to cross check it!"

Del Rio crossed his arms, looking squarely at the crewman. "What are you getting from it?"

The crewman started typing in the information, and after a moment, he paled slightly. "It's… the transponder code for the Forward Unto Dawn."

Several eyes cut towards him before returning to their stations, but Morgan's eyes remained locked on him, and she moved over to his station, not wanting to believe it was true, lest her hopes turn into ash in her mouth. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've run it again and it's a complete match."

She felt her gut start to tighten again, and scanned over the contents of his screen, taking in the information before she reached around the crewman, inputting the information for a third time, personally wanting to ensure it was complete.

When the database reference came back, it once again showed the Forward Unto Dawn's transponder code was a perfect match.

She bit her lip, straightening slowly. Looking back at Lasky and Del Rio, she nodded wordlessly. The two shared a glance, before Del Rio went about giving his orders for preparation to drop out of slipspace and raise shields and weapons. While still an hour out from the beacon, Morgan would have plenty of time to worry about what was lying in store for them.

The hour came and went, and Morgan had spent the entire time wondering if they would find what she expected when they got to it. A massive planetoid had been waiting for them when slipspace had spit them out. It was covered in artificial lines, and the planet seemed to be made out of metal. Wreckage was waiting for them, including a shredded Covenant cruiser.

There was no discernible entrance into the world, but the distress beacon was coming from what was essentially the center of it. Del Rio ordered an open channel, and started speaking once the broadcast started.

"This is the UNSC Infinity, responding to distress signal from UNSC Forward Unto Dawn. If you can hear this, respond immediately."

He waited for a few moments, before he repeated the message once, and then a final time. There was no response, and his scowl only deepened the crags of his face. Infinity closed on the world at a sedate pace, with little else to be done.

Morgan looked over the surface, her arms crossed. Something felt off about the place, but she couldn't quite place it. Maybe a surface mapping scan would show them an entrance into the sphere?

She was about to suggest it whenever something happened. On the surface of the planet, a single orange light appeared, glaring at them, before a beam shot out from it and hit the Infinity, widening and performing multiple passes.

Del Rio shouted an order to increase frontal shields, but they weren't being damaged. He started to move to the shielding control console to check it himself, but he didn't make it in time. Arcs of electricity started to shoot out from the console, and multiple others suffered similar issues as the bridge lights moved to the red of combat stations.

Monsoon appeared on the holotable. "Sir, we're being scanned by the planetoid. Multiple systems failures across the ship, including propulsion. Main reactor is offline. Secondary reactor is offline. Tertiary reactor is unstable and failing. MAC cannons are offline. Point defense systems are offline. Shielding is up but dropping at a rate of one percent every twelve seconds. All other systems remain online completely or partially."

Del Rio cursed. On the planet, something else changed. Several sections split and cracked, before sliding back across the surface and revealing a blinding light from the interior of the planet. The ship lurched under their feet, and Del Rio was brought down, Lasky grabbed at the holotable to steady himself, and Morgan's boots were mag locked to the deck to keep her steady. They were being pulled in, and with no way to stop it.

Del Rio got to his feet, a wound opened on his temple that was bleeding heavily, but wasn't a bad enough wound to warrant anything more than a squirt of biofoam that came from the underside of the holotable, and he dressed the wound quickly. "Open a ship wide channel!" He waited only a second. "All hands, brace for impact."

He cut the channel next and hit a panel on the holotable. Several restraint pods came from the decking, little more than a shock-absorbant pod with crash webbing and restraints that would protect commanders from additional impacts or lurches in such a situation. Strapping in, Lasky followed suit, and Morgan chose to remain on her own two legs. Her magboots would do the job easily enough.

They quickly approached the planet, with Infinity being buffeted the whole way as if being thrown about in a hurricane, but none of them had ever imagined something would exist that could just throw Infinity around like a child's toy.

"Captain, if we get pulled in there, there's no guarantee we're going to be able to get back out!" Lasky called out, watching through the frontal viewport as they rapidly approached.

"I know that!" Grimacing, he looked worse than usual. "Comm, record this message and leave a pod behind to retransmit on repeat!" When the tech nodded, Del Rio went on. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the UNSC Infinity, an unknown entity has seized control of the ship and we are without power. We are being pulled in and on a collision course with an unidentified Forerunner planet!"

Pointing at the tech, the tech nodded again and slapped the control to launch the distress beacon. It was done, but they were still out of luck, and within another few minutes, they had been pulled through the hole in the planet, the white light not dimming, but features coming through. On either side of the viewport, her keen eyes could see details, almost like smoke or steam. Another few moments passed, and the bright light gave way to something more natural, revealing a blue sky as they passed through and into the planet's interior.

Electricity was arcing across the hull repeatedly, and with an open sky and ground beneath them finally, they were going to be going down hard. Green plains, blue water, and heavily wooded jungle made up several biomes as they dropped altitude faster and faster, and when they were about to impact, Morgan called out to brace, readying the bridge crew for what was going to be a very bad time.

At least, it would be for those that survived.

The ground rose up to meet them, and Infinity impacted as if Thor had rung the gong, a thunderclap going over the interior of the planet in all directions. A trench in the ground was ripped open like a darkened wound, gouged deep and traveling the three miles it took for the ship to finally come to a halt with a monstrous groan. Alarms went up all over the ship, injuries piled up like the people that hadn't braced well enough, dropped into a pile of themselves that may or may not get back up. One of the operators on the bridge had been launched out of his seat, his crash webbing having snapped and thrown him. Morgan looked over as soon as the shaking had stopped.

He didn't get back up, and from the way his back was contorted, he wouldn't ever be getting back up again.

Del Rio ordered the operators on the bridge that weren't in charge of weapons and shields to get on the task of contacting all departments and getting a status report. Lasky joined them, and Del Rio summoned Monsoon to quicken the process.

Morgan keyed her comms, opening one with all of the command personnel for the Spartans. "Status report."

August was the first to answer. "Banged up a little, ma'am, but no problems. Castille is already at work."

Palmer next. "Alpha Company is green."

Bravo Company's commander, Spartan Thomas Duren. "Bravo is fine, scrapes and bruises."

Spartan James Holter with Charlie rounded it off. "Charlie has a broken leg, one of us left a dent in the wall. Ready on your orders."

Morgan nodded to herself. "Good. Commanders, deploy your teams throughout the ship. We're on the back foot now and until we get Infinity off the ground again, we're playing defense. Charlie, you have the stern. Bravo, you're amidships. Alpha will handle the bow. Spread your teams on as many decks as you can handle while maintaining rapid response capability. Monsoon will be your primary operator for the time being. Further orders will pass through her. Stay vigilant, stay ready. Bailey out."

She cut the channel and glanced over at Monsoon. "Monsoon, you get all that?"

"Yes, Commander. I will deploy your Spartans as best I can."

"Appreciated." With little else to do, Morgan informed Lasky that she would be moving to the Spartan bridge, and when she left, she immediately opened another channel to someone a little closer.

The comm pickup wasn't immediate, but it didn't take forever. "Hocus here, Commander."

The accent her wife's voice was laced with always soothed her, and she committed it to her mind as a calming exercise. "Status?"

"Green, ma'am. Birds are still ready to fly if you need us."

"And you?"

"No injuries, ops had me on standby for second wave. Spilled my damn coffee though."

"Coffee grows on trees, Hocus. Contact me if anything changes."

"Yes'm. Out."

They remained professional, as much as they could given the situation. They were both hardened enough to know that attachment couldn't cloud their minds, couldn't let them get distracted during an incident. That led to deaths, and neither wanted to wonder what would happen if they got their partner killed. They had both lost too many to lose the most important piece.

Stepping onto the Spartan bridge, Morgan got to work. "What's changed since planetfall?"

Castille, having finished working on the injured crewmen in the Spartan bridge, reported. "Spartans and Marine forces are dispersing throughout the ship. Vehicle bay is a mess but they're bringing what they can online to aid in defensive posture. Warthog patrols so far through the maintenance corridors, working on getting them outside. A couple of Mantis walkers are getting spooled up and taking position near launchers on the exterior until they're back up."

A hum, and Morgan moved for the holographic table. "What about air assets?"

"Mostly CAP Pelicans that were sitting Alert Five. Troopships are grounded but ready, no need to scramble them yet."

The holotable showed the location of the Spartan bridge on a 3D model of Infinity, zooming out further to reveal the ship in its entirety, as well as small models of Pelicans that were being updated in real time with transponder data. Other small models showed up as well over time, including the aforementioned Mantises and a couple of Warthogs and other fast attack vehicles on the ground outside the crash site.

Nothing could be done for the moment, and all they could do was stay appraised of the situation and keep the roving bands of Spartans in check. After half an hour, something changed.

A warning icon, off to the starboard side and to the rear, showed an enemy aircraft was approaching rapidly, far faster than the speed of sound, and multiple other contacts were spotted as well, including Phantoms escorted by Banshee flights.

"Shit." Morgan spoke for all of them. "Prep the teams for anti-boarding operations. Covenant forces are inbound, and there's a lot of them."

Her staff and Monsoon did all the work for her, and when she called in to Del Rio, he was already aware of it.

"I see them, Commander. We're dealing with them as much as we can. Weapons are slowly coming online, but shields are still down. Keep whoever's knocking on our door off of my ship."

She didn't have time to respond, and the channel was cut. She cursed quietly. At the rate things were spiraling, it was only starting to look worse and worse with each passing minute.

With a moment's thought, she called out to Monsoon. "Monsoon, we're joining the defense of the ship. Anything big happens, notify me, but until then, we're joining the rest of the teams. Staff callsign is being updated, prepare for change."

"Yes, ma'am. Standing by for change, orders noted."

"Command fireteam will be designated Fireteam Crown."

"Noted, designation changed."

Finally, Morgan turned to her team. "Now it's time for us to move. We'll stay near the bridge, support Alpha if they need us, but primary objective is to ensure any breachers remain outside of it, rather than in. Where's my gear?"

August grabbed a case that held her shotgun, ammunition, and extra magazines for her pistol, handing it over to her. Slapping it down on the holotable, she grabbed the contents, put them in their places, and she was ready to fight.

Leaving the Spartan bridge at a jog, they made good time. It felt good to be able to heft the reassuring weight of a shotgun again. It was a new model, different from what she had used before, but it still worked the same. It would still spit out a cloud of buckshot and give someone plenty of new holes to breathe through and probably some lead poisoning.

Closing on the bridge again, they spread out in a blocking formation, each taking a position closer or further away from the bridge doors through the only access choke point. August would be the first contact, his heavy armor and LMG set up in a defensive position that would rip anything to shreds. Next was one of the other Spartans, Spartan Travis Wright, a former Force Recon Marine turned Spartan that wore blue Pathfinder armor. He was their point man and carried a heavily modified battle rifle that had been rechambered to fire a heavier round, while retaining enough ammunition to serve as a proper marksman rifle. A middle point between the high power, low capacity SRS series, and the still fairly strong battle rifles. Next was Castille, in the center to rapidly react to medical emergencies. Then Spartan Leonard Hammonds was next in cobalt colored Marauder pattern armor with a modernized MA5B and an attached underbarrel grenade launcher, ready for suppressive fire and maneuver tactics, the squad's raider. Finally, Morgan was the last step towards the bridge, remaining close by the door and the pair of Spartans that remained guarding it at all times.

Instead of waiting in the corridor that led straight to the door, she slipped into one of the side rooms dedicated to commanding ground operations. Pulling up the model of the ship once more, she watched as more and more sections of the ship were breached by enemy forces, as well as watching Pelicans and Phantoms duke it out in the sky. The unidentified object that had been the first contact was a sphere, fairly large, and it remained inert most of the time. All it ever seemed to do was to scan the ship, similarly to the planet's scanning before pulling them in.

She wasn't in there for long when her watch was interrupted. Stepping into the room, Commander Lasky gave her new orders. "Get your team, we're sending recon birds out. Monsoon has found out that what pulled us in was a gravity well of some sort, like a tractor beam. Signals in the jungle around the ship are possible connection points to a larger system that might be able to help us find out what's wrong. Maybe be able to find the cartographer for this place."

"Understood. I'll get it done."

"Just one more thing, Commander. I'll be going with you."

Inside, Morgan frowned. He wasn't a Spartan, and he was the ship's XO. Why was he intent on going out into the field? All this would do was increase the chance of something going wrong, and she didn't like babysitting. "Am I going to be able to talk you out of it?" He shook his head, and she sighed into her helmet as she keyed a comms channel. "Crown, we're moving for the hangars and going for a walk."

Four green status lights winked back, and she moved past Lasky to the door, waiting for her team to come into view before she gestured him forward. She wasn't happy about this at all, but he had enough authority to tell her to shove it if she disagreed.

Entering the hangar, several Pelicans were already stopped and waiting for her team. Others were filled with Marines, ready to go out in the jungle and do what Marines did. The Spartans would remain here, save for Crown.

When she filed into the bird, she stepped into the cockpit. A pilot and copilot were waiting, but neither was Hocus. "We ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. You were our last group. Lifting off and spreading out now in pairs."

With that, the Pelicans lifted from the deck and started to exit the hangar bays, and when they floated out, they were ignored by the large sphere. With no Phantoms or Banshees nearby and ready to bother them, though, it was a serene flight for a while.

But like all good things, it wouldn't last. Morgan was sitting near the bay door, ready to rush out whenever they touched down. It was closed, for obvious reasons, but the sight of orange colored bolts of energy passing by was enough to catch her attention, and she frowned as the Pelican started going evasive.

"What's going on up there?" She asked the pilots what was happening, and one of them grunted as they responded.

"Taking ground fire, unknown capability, but it's not fitting any of the weapons profiles we know of. Maybe small arms, but-" He was cut off as the Pelican was jolted heavily, nearly nosing down completely before he got a hold of it. "We just lost an engine! Mayday, mayday, mayday! Infinity, Echo Seven-One is hit and going down. Transponder active, setting down ten miles from the ship!"

The Pelican was hit again, and this time, a massive hole appeared in the bay floor as a round penetrated through and splashed against the ceiling, splattering against it and sending bits of energy out in all directions that did little to their shields, but Morgan was quick to shield Lasky either way.

Cursing under her breath, she turned to Lasky. "We're going down, ten miles out. Ground fire is hot and our LZ probably will be too. Get ready to move."

He nodded in response, his lips set in a tight line that did little to ease either of their minds as the Pelican rapidly lost altitude. Grabbing hold of the stability straps on the ceiling, Morgan held on, and waited for the impact as the world outside began to spin with the loss of power and sent the Pelican towards the ground.

Several revolutions and a five hundred meter drop in altitude had them smashing into the ground and skidding through a clearing until the Pelican slammed into a copse of trees and come to a groaning halt. Morgan's boots had kept her in place, but Lasky had been shoved against his restraints hard enough that it would leave some nasty bruising. The rest of the Spartans had been strapped in, for what little the straps would do, and mag locked their own boots. None of them had been forced out of their seats.

Immediately, she went for the cockpit, the door refusing to open from the damage, and so she forced it open and stepped in.

The co-pilot was slumped in his seat, limp and not responsive. Her check of his bio-signs got a negative response, and she frowned. The pilot would have been the same, but it seemed that one of the energy shots that had hit them had come up through the floor of the flight deck and disintegrated most of him. His body was gone, save for parts of his arms, still gripping the control stick and throttle bar.

Grimacing, she grabbed the co-pilot's dog tags and moved back into the blood tray. "Pilots didn't make it. We need to get out of this transport and make best time either toward our objective, or scrub it and find an LZ for evac."

Lasky frowned. "We're only a mile from our objective point. We can hoof it there and call for evac that way."

Morgan nodded. "Fine, we'll go for the objective. Until then, I'll try to connect with Echo Seven-Two." Her Spartans followed her orders without needing to micromanage, and Wright took point again, his modified battle rifle leading the way as she tried to raise Seven-Two's Marines. "This is Commander Bailey, Echo Seven-Two, say status."

There was nothing, and she tried again a few moments later as Fireteam Crown got underway and disappeared into the bushes. A third try finally got a response, and she felt some relief, even if the channel was tainted with static.

"This is Lance Corporal Espada, I read you, Commander. We were brought down by ground fire, same as you. Half our number are KIA and our team leader was killed in the crash. Sending transponder ping now."

Morgan waited another moment, before her HUD responded to the two way transponder ping that Marine armor had been outfitted with for more aid in maneuvering separately when units were split up. It was only a few hundred meters, and she could see a black smoke plume rising through the trees in that direction. "Copy all, Corporal. Dig in and wait. We'll pick you up and move for the objective. Give us ten at most."

Cutting the channel, Morgan called out to her team. "Some survivors made it out. We'll grab them and move for objective. Spread out and we'll make good time, hopefully."

They did, for a while, and halfway to the Marines, something changed. There was a feeling in Morgan's gut that told her something was about to go wrong. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she followed that warrior's instinct that had been honed for so many years before it took a break. Now, it was needed again.

There was an odd sound, like a whoosh, and the air started to shimmer between August, the second man in the column, and Hammonds, the center.

A massive creature made of steel and orange lighting seemed to appear out of thin air with a screech. Twin orange dots on its armored head were like lit coals, and its large body was larger than even two of the Spartans. One spindly arm had a weapon attached to the end, a rifle of some sort, and the other a large, glowing blade.

Her eyes latched on to it and her shotgun was up, the trigger already being pulled as she gave the order that her Spartans had picked up on with an enemy appearing in their midst.

"Focus fire!" Her cry went up even as the creature lifted its weapon arm and fired at Hammonds, the Spartan dodging, just barely, before the rest of them unloaded on it. It screamed at the fact that they seemed to be more competent than whatever else it had seen, and teleported again, coming out closer to Morgan.

It stepped out of its portal at her, blade already coming up in an arc. She was quick to push Lasky back, sending him to the ground as she backed up, shotgun raised and another shell going down the tube as time slowed down enough for her to properly react.

The blade missed, just barely, and scraped across her shields enough to bring them to near nothing. Her shot, however, was true. Pellets blasted from the barrel in a haze of smoke and fire, and hit the machine dead center. It went down with its chest caved in from the blast, but wasn't dead yet.

Moving to try and raise its weapon again, Morgan was quicker, closing the distance and bringing a heavily armored boot down on its rifle arm before racking the slide on the shotgun and pumping two more blasts into its chest.

Another scream, and it fell limp, before disintegrating into nothingness, but the rifle had been left behind, and Morgan frowned, bending down to scoop it up just in case before sliding it onto her back. A few moments passed before she called out. "Report!"

Several green lights went up in response, and Lasky was being helped to his feet by Castille. Glancing back at him, she breathed a sigh of relief. Things would only get worse from here.

"Castille, stick with Lasky. Rest of you, increase spacing, diamond formation. Any more of those big things come out at us, I want enough spacing that we don't club each other whipping around."

More status lights, and she took up a new position on the left side, while Lasky and Castille stuck in the center. They were able to get through the jungle until it got even denser, and went through more encounters with whatever those things had been, but few got as lucky as the first one, and her Spartans made short work of whatever else tried to stop them. The entirety of their trip had distant gunfire from Marine rifles and the same odd sound that came from those new enemy weapons before everything went quiet again. Morgan didn't like quiet.

The Marine transponder signal was nearby, and Morgan called out on the comms. "Corporal Espada, we're here, ready to move?" No answer, and she grimaced, but kept moving. "Corporal?" Her words seemed to have been pointless, as in front of her, Wright had stopped moving and held his hand up, a closed fist, before opening his hand and slicing it horizontally, palm down. Nothing good was in sight.

Moving forward, Morgan realized why. The Marines in question were scattered across a clearing, most of them having been shot by those nasty rifles the big bastards carried, and one had even been cut in half by one of the swords. She cursed softly to herself.

"Keep moving. Nothing we can do now. Gather tags on the way through but it's a secondary matter."

Green status lights, and Lasky didn't question her orders. He was out of his field, and he knew it. They continued on and scooped up whatever they could, with Morgan taking an actual assault rifle into her hands and handing it over to Lasky. His magnum was little more than a pea shooter as far as she was concerned, and he took it without any issues, as well as the additional mags, shoving them into the pockets on his uniform.

Carrying on through the jungle, they made it to their destination, and the jungle was cut short by a wide door that had a console on the right side. Her blue armored hand came up and gestured to it, her index and middle finger extending alone and gesturing towards the panel once, then again, before her hand returned to her shotgun. Get the door open, get inside, get back to Infinity.

Wright stepped up to the plate, his Pathfinder armor having an enhanced cyberwarfare suite integrated into it. He was able to make a path through foliage and steel alike with his armor and skillset. The rest covered, weapons up and scanning the trees, waiting for another mechanical demon to step out of nowhere and come at them.

But they were lucky enough to make it through the time it took to break into the room without any unwanted guests. A green light pinged on her squad's roster, and she sent one in return. The rest of the squad immediately started pulling back towards Wright, weapons up until they had all backed into the open door and Wright closed it off from the interior.

With their position safe for the time being, Morgan let her weapon down. "Wright, see if you can find a passthrough into the system through the door controls, or at least a place to begin. Rest of you, repack mags, stay ready. No reason to believe they can't attack us in here too just because the doors are shut."

Frowning, she moved closer to Lasky. "Regret leaving the ship yet?"

He returned the frown without knowing she was doing it. "Not exactly, but I think I should have let you all out here without me holding your leash."

"Honestly? Probably. I don't mind babysitting, but we're not exactly in a good position for it at the moment."

Lasky grimaced. "Sorry about that."

Morgan hummed in response as she got a contact on her motion tracker. This time it was friendly. There were no enemy contacts following it, but she was quick to respond. "Contact! Friendly!" Her eyes narrowed. A single contact? On the opposite side from Infinity? She had no idea how they had gotten where they were, but she would get them out of here one way or another. "Open the door, retrieve the contact, fall back inside. Move!"

Green lights all, and she stacked up on the door with them. They were spread across it, weapons up and ready to push out when it split open and started to rise and sink into the building itself. Her Spartans took the lead, and her shotgun was up as she scanned outside the door, but when she saw the figure standing there, her mouth went dry.

She saw a familiar figure in the olive colored armor that seemed as still as a statue, damaged and scratched to pieces, holding an assault rifle in practiced hands. There was nothing in the golden visor that spoke to her other than what she'd expected to be nothing more than a ghost. It had been too long, and she'd thought him dead, but standing in front of her was the Master Chief himself.

Her Spartans continued to clear the area, none of them distracted by the legendary Spartan that they had come to get. She swallowed, and their visors met. After a moment, she got her words back, looking him up and down.

"You haven't grown all that much since we last saw each other, Chief."

His gravelly baritone sounded just as it had the last time she'd seen him. "Sorry to disappoint."

Without really thinking, a ghost of a smile came to her face, and she came back to the battlefield. Calling out to Crown, she raised her weapon again and ordered them to retreat back into the structure and seal it. The Chief moved forward as well, his assault rifle clasped in steady hands as Lasky closed the distance, his hand already out.

"Tom Lasky, first officer on the Infinity. Never thought I'd see you again."

If the Chief recognized him, he didn't respond, but took the outstretched hand. Morgan was about to speak when her comms suite buzzed.

"...-ground forces are ordered to return to Infinity immediately!"

Morgan frowned at the sound of Del Rio's angry sounding orders. "Infinity Actual's on the comm, Commander. Responding now." She switched her speakers to send out comms chatter as well, and off to the side, she saw Wright look back at her with a thumbs up. He had found their objective. "Infinity, this is Commander Bailey. We've accomplished our objective, but our bird's down and we have no contact with any other advance forces. Approximately 10 miles from the ship's drop site."

"Then return to the ship immediately. I need those coordinates."

She stopped for a second, confused, before going on. "Sir, we're going to need transport back to the ship or it'll-"

"Make it happen!"

She had no chance to respond when the comm cut out, and she felt a hint of anger. "Son of a bitch… Alright, we're in charge of sourcing a ride."

A familiar voice sounded from the Master Chief's direction. "You were sent out on a scouting run in the middle of an attack on the ship?"

Cortana's snark hadn't eased a bit. "Infinity was supposed to be capable of covering our flights with onboard weapons, but we weren't expecting native forces to be as beefy as they are." A pause. "Good to see you again, Cortana."

A hint of pleasure entered the AI's voice. "Likewise, Morgan."

Lasky finally entered the conversation. "If we're going to be getting a ride out of here, we'll need to clear an LZ or we're going to run out of breathing room real fast. I know you only just got here, Master Chief, but… you wouldn't be ready and willing to help us break open a landing zone, would you?"

The big man in his olive armor responded, a hint of a joke in his voice. "I could be persuaded." Lasky's face seemed confused, before the Chief went on. "I'll handle it and call back when it's been cleared."

Morgan was quick to join him. "I'll go as well. Crown, stay here, guard Lasky."

Green status lights responded quickly, and Crown dispersed throughout the room, weapons ready as Wright moved to join them at the door, one hand going to the back of his helmet as he went on with his other, inputting several commands on the control panel. He looked up to Morgan, his voice carrying through in a low pitch. "Be careful, Commander. No idea how many of those things might pop out at you. We'll be waiting. Here's the data we snatched," he finished, holding out a data chip that he had pulled from the helmet he wore.

Taking it, she slotted it into her own helmet and nodded at him, and the door started to shift open at the other Spartan's command, letting them step back out into the sunlight that could pierce the jungle canopy overhead. Then, as quick as it had opened, it closed behind them, and they were alone again.

Cortana's voice was almost cheery, in a sense. "Looks like the gang's back together again."

Morgan snorted in response, her shotgun up and scanning as they moved forward, away from the door. "Didn't think I'd ever see either of you again. What happened?"

"Oh, you know, floating through space for a couple years, alone with my thoughts. It was a good time. I took pictures!"

Morgan's helmet tilted, glancing over at the Chief, who looked back without a word. "Right. Still, it's good to have you both back."

The Chief nodded, and they took a little more distance between each other, Morgan's eyes glancing down to her motion tracker. Silence until Cortana spoke up. "Topographical scans indicate a clearing big enough for a dropship to land, not too far."

"Understood." Morgan's response was immediate, and she thought of something. "Cortana, any idea what we're fighting against?"

"Long story, Commander, but in short, native defense forces. Forerunner in origin and they've caused more than a little trouble for us so far."

"Yeah, you can say that again. Their weapons are capable of bringing down Pelicans, apparently. One of those big bastards dropped us with no problems."

"Not surprising. I have no idea how much we haven't seen yet."

Morgan hummed in response as they pushed through another route, and more distant fire rose up out of the jungle. She was about to speak again when another portal opened up in front of her. With the need to command no longer in play, her shotgun was up and the trigger pulled back before the weapon bucked against her shoulder, roaring at the Forerunner fighter that stepped out at its wielder.

Buckshot blasted out in its pattern, 15 tungsten pellets impacting against the chest of the Promethean Knight and piercing the heavy armor as if it wasn't even there. It went down in slow motion, green eyes tracking it all the way down as practiced hands racked the slide and, in another instant, put a second shell into its chest before her hand dropped from the slide and into her ammunition pouch, expertly reloading the weapon in a flash.

It was over in less than two seconds, and smoke was still wafting from the barrel as she glanced back up at the Chief. He nodded to her, his weapon up and slowly going back to low ready. He approved. Of course he would. She hadn't missed a step in all those years.

They pushed further into the jungle, clearing out Promethean forces in near silence. Their comms went unused, status lights signaling their status after each fight. It was as if they had never been apart, although, things had changed. She didn't have a busted rib anymore, and wasn't running on fumes as her mind tried to rip itself apart from months of nonstop fighting and losing everything that she cared about.

Five years was a long time, and she pushed the thought away as she looked back to the Chief. His large back was to her as he pulled down the trigger on the last enemy in another clearing, his boot stomped down on its arm as it fell limp, his rifle's report echoing through the skies above.

She had long ago come to terms with the idea that he was dead, and with a moment of realization, she remembered what it must have been like for him when she handed him Jorge's tags on the Dawn all those years ago. It made her feel a little uneasy, to finally be conscious of the fact that he had faded from her memory for so long, and she felt bad about it in a way. She had remembered Noble many times over the years, usually fading from her mind, but appearing once again on those dark nights where the nightmares came back and her sister's voice sounded again, far away but still loud.

Swallowing, she pushed it from her mind. This was no time to dwell on it, and she wouldn't allow herself to fall back to old habits. She was relieved that at least they didn't have to speak to each other. She needed time to think, and now wasn't a good time or place.

It never was, if she was honest with herself, but Hocus had spent too much time and work on her for Morgan to just push it all away and let it fester. She would need to find the pilot later and open up a little. A month of little contact with her wife was noticeable, and if nothing else, she was glad that she could at least see her during the days, however little. A full tour without her, however, would have been unbearable, much to the Spartan's chagrin.

She had been fighting on autopilot, her body keeping the tempo up even while her mind inspected other things, and the sound of her comms buzzing in her ear was enough to drag her out of her reverie.

It was the Chief. "Cortana, how much further to the LZ?"

"You do your job and let me do mine, okay!?" Her reply was angry sounding, full of irritation, and Morgan was taken aback at the sound of the AI's heated words.

The Chief pulled Cortana's data chip from a nearby pedestal, where he had slotted her into to open another door that had blocked her path. He glanced back at Morgan as he reslotted it into his helmet, more than aware that her golden visor was watching him, and he could tell the twin green irises inside were doing the same.

Whatever else was said, she didn't hear, and he turned away, moving through the open door. Something was different, off. Cortana had never done an outburst like that before, and she frowned as she followed him inside. She had detected something else in Cortana's voice, a warble, or a shift in her tone, that was definitely not normal. It left a pit in her stomach as she thought back to her earlier mental woes.

Five years. The majority of a smart AI's lifespan. Only two more were left to Cortana, and the amount of data that had been pulled in on the Halo array and the Ark itself, not to mention whatever had come from High Charity, made her stomach tighten up enough to worry her.

Something was wrong.

They moved around a corner, and Morgan's eyes narrowed as she saw a group of Covenant troops and a Knight. She raised her weapon to fire, but realized something else was amiss. The Knight was gesturing to the troopers, as if giving orders, and she cursed. "Knight's directing the Covies. Looks like we're getting deeper in this shit hole."

"I noticed as well. It's astonishing just how much they're working together already…"

"Already? How long have you been dealing with them?"

"Not long, a day or two at this rate, but we came face to face with the Forerunner in charge of the Prometheans. Nasty character, doesn't like Humans much, or well, at all."

"More to brief. We clear this out, you fill me in later."

"Yes, ma'am."

The Chief was the first to fire as Morgan closed range, firing the shotgun and choosing her targets. A beam rifle shot passed over her head, and she grunted as she kept one hand on the slide for the shotgun and her other dropped from the trigger to her magnum, ripping it off and aiming at the sniper before firing and painting the wall behind it with bits of skull and brain. She whipped around, bringing the pistol down to her hip before putting a pair of shots into a Grunt and sending it to the ground, the magnum returning to her hip as she brought the shotgun back into play.

The LZ was cleared quickly, and she made sure of it. Opening a comm channel to Crown, she ordered them to regroup. "Landing zone secured, move up."

Lasky responded, sounding relieved. "Good work, Commander. I'll get the coordinates for-"

His voice was cut off as a new player entered the channel, priority comms from Infinity. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! Code red! Hostile elements are attempting to gain access to the bridge! All ground elements are to return to the ship immediately and repel boarders!"

She grimaced, even as a Pelican's downwash started to buffet them, the bird lowering to the ground quickly. In her comm, she heard other voices enter as Del Rio continued to give his orders. An explosion, then gunfire filled the channel, and cut out.

Lasky was quick to pick up again, giving his orders as if he had a plan. "We'll make our way there and get another bird, until then, you have tactical command of the forward assault force. Sending nav coordinates to you now."

"We'll get it done, sir."

"I know you will. Lasky out."

The Pelican set down, its landing gear shifting as she stepped aboard and moved to the cockpit. In the front seat, a familiar face looked back at her, but her normal smile was cut off, replaced by a grimace. Hocus was in charge of this bird. "Ma'am. Coordinates?"

"Already sent, Hocus. Get us airborne, keep us low. Fast as we can go."

"Aye, ma'am."

Without another look, Morgan moved back into the blood tray. The back ramp stayed open, and the bay machine gun was held in two massive armored hands as the Chief took up position. He was as ready to fight as she was. Then again, when were they not ready?

Standing ready at the bay door herself, she listened to general comms traffic as they closed on Infinity. The Pelican remained in motion, rolling and jinking subtly as it cut through the air rather than a fast, straight flight path. Hocus had been the subject of too much ground fire to count, and she knew the ropes when it came to getting in and out of the hottest zones.

Their flight was quick, seeming to pass by in a flash as the Pelican dropped into a clearing and went into a canyon filled with debris and shadow. Touching down, the two Spartans were on the ground and maneuvering, weapons up. Hocus vacated the area quickly, returning for the rest that had been left behind by the sudden emergency.

A squad of other IVs were fighting in the area, stationed there at an entrance into the ship to prevent any contacts from entering if they could. Morgan joined the overall battle net again, hearing one of the Spartans speaking.

"-Ground teams, be advised. Commander Bailey and the Master Chief are on the field. Advancing."

IFF tags identified the team as a group of dark green colored Spartans, Fireteam Shamrock. The Master Chief had left her side, already heading for the Scorpion. He was quick to take the big toys for himself, it seemed.

"Shamrock, embedding with you. Get me into the ship."

Shamrock's leader, Spartan Darnell Morris, immediately responded in the affirmative, his deep voice ordering his Spartans to take point and keep enemy infantry forces away from the tank to let its cannon work without worrying about boarders.

A couple of Warthogs, one of them a gauss, were waiting as well, and the Spartans hopped aboard with Morgan taking the gauss for herself. They would ride as the Scorpion's escort, deal with what they could. Until then, they were still a few hundred meters from Infinity's hangars, and would need to be fast.

In her ear, the main comms net for the ship was still going, with Monsoon giving out orders and status updates as needed. She had likely split herself into dozens of fragments, allowing her to keep eyes and ears on all Spartan fireteams, leading them directly and ensuring they were put to work in the best way. Morgan was more than happy to let her keep doing it while she was on the field.

Chaingun fire, the crack of a guass cannon, and the roar of the Scorpion's smoothbore cannon were constant sounds alongside Shamrock's battlefield comms, and they closed on the ship without any major problems while Morgan leapt from the back and ran towards the controls to a cargo elevator, reaching the controls just as the Scorpion rolled onboard, treads creaking in protest with every movement they made.

Slapping at the controls, she tried to force it to go up, find an override, something. Cursing, she called for Monsoon. "Monsoon, we're at an elevator, hangar two dash one niner. Requesting assist."

"Yes, ma'am. Please keep the area clear of hostiles while the elevator ascends."

The elevator jolted and her knees flexed as it went up, the tank rumbling quietly and the turret swiveling in increments, always looking for another enemy to paste. Entering the ship, the use of the main gun would be restricted, but the coaxial MG would be free fire on anything that wasn't a Human.

When they came to the top of the elevator shaft, the Scorpion was quick to open up, and Morgan saw only a moment later that UNSC forces were being engaged not only by the Covenant and new Promethean forces, but a Hunter pair was active and firing their fuel rod guns with impunity, rounds pinging off of their heavy armor until the Scorpion came into play.

Immediately, Morgan was in motion. "Get off the elevator! The tank's a target!" She moved off of the elevator, taking cover and watching as the Hunters engaged the Scorpion, the coaxial MG opening up and putting down a withering barrage of fire on the troops that were more vulnerable. The Chief would clear the way to the Hunters, and Morgan started to broadcast on her helmet's speakers. "Focus down the small troops, close with the Hunters, take them down before they rip the tank apart!"

Marines and Spartans alike responded with a fusillade that put bullets into things both organic and otherwise. Grunts and Jackals fell, ripped apart by jacketed rounds. Elites took fire to their shields and dove for cover, some not making it before their shields popped and their bodies followed behind. Promethean forces weathered the storm better, heavy armor managing to tank some of the shots that came in on them and returning fire without seeming to worry about cover.

But none of them were able to spare much fire on Morgan while the blue armored Spartan ripped a grenade from her belt and sidearmed it at the Hunters. One saw it coming and raised its shield, the grenade bouncing off and exploding harmlessly in the air, shrapnel from the detonation pinging off of the floor and nearest wall of the hangar. It didn't matter. She hurled another one, never slowing or stopping in her advance as another pair of Spartans from Shamrock realized what she was doing.

They were quick to mimic her tactics, the second Hunter trying to cover behind its shield as well, but they were both exposed either to one of the advance forces, the Marines still engaging other forces, or the Scorpion in the back flinging lead like it was going out of style.

One of the Hunters finally took some hits to its unprotected sections, roaring in pain as orange gore fell to the floor in a nasty splatter. It repositioned, backing away with its bond brother.

Morgan wouldn't let them get far, and rather than skirt the side of the battlefield, she pushed off hard, and sprinted down the center, her shotgun held in shifting arms as she closed the distance faster than the Hunters had expected.

One raised its shield up and readied itself to bring it down, but a heavy barrage of fire from the Scorpion was already on target, the tracers giving plenty of evidence as to why the Hunter was being torn apart in front of her, until it had been hit enough that it simply sloughed apart, the upper half falling to the floor. She pushed past it, her shotgun coming up as she saw the other Hunter turn in slow motion, its shield starting to swing towards her rather than arcing from the top or bottom.

She dropped to the ground, her armor giving off sparks as she slid across the steel decking, lowering herself even further as she did. The shotgun pointed up at an angle, and she felt like she locked eyes with the Hunter that watched as it struggled to bring the shield back around, and pulled the trigger.

The cone of pellets was more than enough to blow out a massive amount of the orange eels that made up the big Covenant species, and it rained back down on her as she slid between heavily armored legs and out the other side. It, too, fell like its brother had, and she was on the offensive again, attacking what remained from behind, before the hangar fell silent from all but the sound of spent shell casings being kicked around, status callouts, and a warbling alarm.

There was no time to stop and breathe, to let things settle in. Spartans were always moving forward, leading the way, breaking through until either the enemy had stopped breathing, or the Spartans, and too many times had the latter happened.

Shamrock was quick to follow as Morgan ordered them together, and the Master Chief abandoned the Scorpion, closing the gap and rejoining her as they moved out of the hangar, further towards the bow. Morgan's comms opened up again, Del Rio's voice filtering through.

"Commander, I'm told that a legend has come back to join us. We'll need his skills to break this assault."

She didn't slow her stride, weapon up, passing through split doors as the ship swallowed her whole once again. "Status?"

"The satellite outside is attempting to access the ship's mainframe. It's already got a connection, along the port side, not far from your entry point. Quickest way there will be through the maintenance causeways. Mantis support has been authorized in mech bay six. Send the Master Chief there. Your job is to break the siege on the bridge section. We're holding them off, but barely, and we've had multiple Spartan casualties."

She cursed, frowning as she carried on. "Understood. I'm on my way."

"Make it quick. We've retreated to another section, but they're attempting to break through now. Monsoon estimates five minutes, maybe, before they make it through the doors."

She cut the channel. There was no need for further information. The survivors from Shamrock were with her, and she had to lead them to the bridge. They weren't too far now. Turning back to the Chief, she cut his orders for him. "We're splitting up, you're going external in a Mantis, manual reboot of the defensive batteries to drive whatever it is off. We'll cover the bridge. I can take Cortana and get her into the system, try and flush out whatever is inside from the breach point."

The Master Chief seemed to almost hesitate, something she'd rarely ever seen from the big Spartan, and her frown deepened.

"Chief?" She didn't have much time. Holding her hand out, she waited for the chip, but every second was precious now. He shook his head and turned away.

"Negative. I'll insert her into the system closer to the contact location where it's scanning." His response was quick, and he turned his back to her, setting off into the maintenance corridor that would lead to the Mantis bay, and she grimaced, knowing there was no use in pursuing.

"Alright, Shamrock, we need to move fast, or the bridge crew is toast."

"Yes ma'am," Morris answered.

The walls of the Infinity passed by in a blur, the group of Spartans passing by multiple conflicts that had Marines and other Spartan forces battling scattered Prometheans and Covenant forces, slowly but surely pushing them back according to an overlay of the ship that showed thinning conflict zones as the ship's contingent pushed the invaders out, either through a forced retreat or ensuring they were all dead. More and more lights winked off as friendly forces managed to break out and support other zones, the enemy casualties skyrocketing as the ship was cleared.

But there was a heavy enemy presence at the front of the ship, and friendly forces had been unable to properly break through, despite their best efforts, and several Spartans had been wounded a the least enough to take them out of action. She had no idea how many had been killed so far, and she didn't want to until all the dust had settled. Every Spartan, and every Marine that was lost to combat on this world was another hole in their defensive strength. Until they could get out of here, they were limited to whatever was on hand, and after enough punishment, even a ship as large as the Infinity would start to feel the strain.

Corridors and decks across the ship were at a standstill leading to the bridge, and Morgan closed on a line that was loaded with Marines exchanging fire with Covenant forces at the end of the hall, likely a rearguard for heavy Promethean vanguards. Morgan's shotgun was up as she charged into a crossfire, her first round blasting a Grunt off of its feet and sent it slamming into the deck. An Elite, stripped of the heavy armor that the Covenant had worn during the war, was quick to close the gap, and she whipped around to face it before several rounds came in from one of Shamrock's gunners, piercing the shields and painting the walls with whatever the Elite had in its skull.

The Marines moved along in the trail of devastation led by Shamrock and Morgan, keeping their rear covered to allow the Spartans to go wild on anything to the front. Morgan was their point man, something she hadn't been since Reach. She had always worked alone before Noble, and then was more or less alone again during the final months of the war until the Chief had come back onto the field.

Working with a team again, it was nice, in a way. She could rely on others, not having to constantly keep one eye on her sights and one on her motion tracker. Focusing purely on the fight at hand led to devastating results with a veteran Spartan able to run free on targets. The Marines were bearing witness to it now, unable to stop and shoot with the frenetic pace that the Spartans kept up, firing on the move and defining maneuver warfare in the modern age.

A spearhead of green and a tip of blue led the group to the bridge, Covenant forces fading more and more until only Prometheans stood guard over the way to the bridge and its occupants. They all fell to the roar of Morgan's shotgun, the crack of Shamrock's rifles and machine guns, and the heavy boots that carried them through. Marine corpses were on either side of the decks, run through and cut to pieces by swords, blown to bits by the heavy rifles, sometimes even just crumpled from a bludgeoning hit. Plasma damage, bullet impact holes, whatever the Promethean weapons did, all increased as they pushed forward.

It had been a hard fight, but the Marines had held as long as they could. She counted three Spartans left in the halls, their armor damaged and their bodies limp from the fight that had brought them down. Neither Shamrock nor Morgan kept count. Only one set of numbers mattered right now, and it was the remaining ammunition they had packed onto them.

The bridge doors came into sight, and Morgan watched as a Promethean far larger than the others of its kind turned to look at her, twin rifles in each hand, with an additional pair of large cannons poking from sections of its back. It looked less like the Prometheans they had seen, and more like a crab shell with two legs beneath it. Armor split open in the dead center of its chest where the glowing eyes stared holes in the Spartans, and a trio of bright orange Human shaped skulls screeched at her before the armor closed back around them.

One of the cannons on its shoulder roared loudly, a massive red ball of energy pushing out of the barrel and moving towards them. It was slow, slower than any bullet, or even plasma fire, but when it impacted, it was devastating. One of the rounds hit a downed Spartan, one of the dead guards, as Shamrock tried to get away. The body, armor and all, disappeared in a bright red flash, and Morgan felt her stomach tighten.

Another shot like that would be able to kill any one of them. Trying to push forward and dodge around the shots only meant that they would be open to the rifles. Trying to sit here and wither it down would expose them to more of the heavy cannon fire.

To her right, a cylinder spun through the air, moving at a higher speed than she had expected. They didn't have rockets or heavy AT, but they did have grenades, and one of them spun through the air until it bounced off of the Promethean Crab's armor, detonating and sending shrapnel pinging off of the walls.

The massive enemy combatant wasn't damaged, the explosion having left scorch marks on the armor, but there were no pocks or holes, but Morgan had noticed it stumble back on the twin legs. They were large, more than capable of carrying the Promethean, but possibly unstable.

She had an idea. "More! Hit the bastard again, everything you've got!"

More grenades came flying in at her command, all having the same effect. There were no damaging hits, but the thing was kept off balance, struggling to keep its large bulk on target, and Morgan saw her opening.

Pushing out of her cover, she sprinted forward, and heard the clamor of boots behind her. Shamrock was led by someone that had the same keen eyes as the Commander, and had come to the same conclusion. They would get in close while it was off balance and deal with it like barbarians. After all, a Spartan was just a barbarian with an advanced cudgel and tougher skin.

The cannons started to line back up a shot as rifle fire came in from the crab, inaccurate and rapid. Morgan was able to dodge most of it without losing speed, but the rest of Shamrock would have trouble. There was only so much room to dodge and move without tripping each other or taking a hit.

Her shields dropped with each near miss, until she heard the warbling in her ears as the shields went to critical levels, heat passing through her armor to the skin beneath. She was too close to stop now, and there was no cover anyway. Green eyes tracked the direction all four barrels were pointing, and she put on a burst of speed. The remaining ten meters were gone in a flash, and she threw the shotgun in her hands to the side, dropping her heavily armored shoulder and tucking her head in as one of the shoulder cannons went off again.

Her shoulder impacted just as she heard armor crunching against armor, the loud click followed by a dull thump as the weapon fired, and her world spun. The crab had been knocked down onto its back, and Shamrock had dog piled it almost as soon as they had gotten in range. The shot that had been taken as the crab fell had impacted against the ceiling, dropping already damaged shields. Electricity arced over all of the Spartans, none of them shielded anymore as they fought the crab with fists and boots.

Heavy armor could protect against distant rifle fire and explosions just fine, but when an adrenaline filled squad of Spartans hit the crab like a freight train, they had set to work on tearing it apart piece by piece.

Literally.

Shamrock had ripped off both arms, straining against the metal that made the creature up, and the twin cannons on its shoulders were moving on gimbals, trying desperately to get a target, but it was unable. A synthetic screech went up, and Morgan felt herself going weightless.

"Get off! Get the hell off!" Her orders went up just in time, and she felt the crab starting to leave the area through its odd teleportation system. Shamrock bailed off of it like they had finally captured a rampaging bull. Morgan was last, and she nearly didn't make it, falling to the ground hard after trying to push off. Her boots left the downed crab, but with it disappearing under her a half an instant later, she barely moved, and it disappeared as she fell to the ground, grunting.

Shamrock fanned out, the squad leader moving for the bridge door that had been almost white hot. Several spots had been hit by rifle fire, and the cannons on that things shoulders had been doing a number on the reinforced doors that covered the bridge. Slapping the communications panel next to the door, Morris called out.

"Friendlies! Bridge secured!"

The door split open, struggling to fit inside of its slot after having been pelted with fire and deformed by heat. Another minute, or even less, and the crab would have annihilated the bridge.

Morgan rose to her feet, feeling the weight of the battle and its actions coming down on her shoulders. She was next in, and Shamrock's remaining Spartans peeled back into the bridge room, shutting the door and staying on it, just in case anything else came.

Del Rio's eyes met hers through her visor as he came up from behind the holo table, a magnum clutched tightly in his hands. It was a textbook stance, one learned from time on a range, rather than time in a trench. It lowered. "Commander, nice of you to finally join us."

She nodded. "Sir. We've managed to clear plenty of hostiles from the area. Hopefully it takes the pressure off the rest of the ship."

Del Rio was about to respond when Monsoon appeared on the holotable. "Sir, my sensors indicate the unknown alien forces are leaving the ship. Covenant forces are attempting to disengage as well, but lack the teleporting capabilities of the others. Enemy air forces are being destroyed as we speak by ship defenses."

"And the satellite?" He asked, glaring down at her with that scowl of his.

"It has been forced away as well by the combined efforts of the Master Chief and other Mantis personnel. I estimate we have half an hour before the ship is cleared, but as of right now, the danger has largely passed, sir."

The older officer nodded slowly, finally holstering his weapon. "Good." Turning back to Morgan, he pointed to her. "Commander, remain here. Spartans, the rest of you return to clearing the ship."

Shamrock was quick to leave, none of them wanting to remain under Del Rio's gaze any longer than they had to. Morgan turned to watch them leave, one of them returning after a moment and tossing her the discarded shotgun with a sketched salute.

A hint of a smile as she racked the slide and reloaded it, before clipping it to her armor's back plate. Looking back to Del Rio, she waited for his orders.

He was slow to give them, staring at the holotable and the overlay of the ship, slowly returning to a full blue shape. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "Commander, do you have the data on the gravity well location?"

She nodded, pulling the data chip from her helmet that Wright had given her. Doubling as both an AI storage chip and one that could pull data from consoles both Covenant and Human, and apparently Forerunner, hackers and cyberwarfare experts could fill it with targeted data rather than large dumps. She had lucked out with Wright's expertise. "Yes, sir."

He took it and slotted it into the holotable, Monsoon immediately latching onto it and setting it up to show what the area looked like, structures, and more. Del Rio was formulating a plan, one that would be their next course of action.

Finally, he nodded again, satisfied. "Monsoon, how long until we can regain full power and get back into the air?"

"Estimating… Thirty Two hours, Captain."

Del Rio cursed, his hands tightening into fists. "The longer we're here, the more likely we get attacked again. Bring all weapons online first, then shields. Have all combat forces come to REDCON 1, roving patrols constantly. Place heavy weapons throughout the ship, and entrench in chokepoints with emplaced weapons teams, load armor piercing ammunition to deal with the big armored enemy types. Engineers and mechanics stick with a squad or two of Marines on guard, and keep a CAP flight up just in case more air forces try to obtain a beachhead. Seal all hangars and elevators other wise. We're gonna be here for too long, and I don't want a repeat of what just happened."

Turning back to Morgan, he made her the subject of his scowl. "Commander, gather your Spartans, re-arm, and stay appraised. Once your team has returned, keep them close. You'll be leading the charge on the gravity well generator when it comes time to happen. More details to follow. Until then, do what you need to to be ready. You're dismissed."

She nodded, taking her orders. "Yes sir." Anything to be out from under that look. She left the bridge shortly after, returning to S Deck and finding that several Spartans were being treated for injuries by medics. Sarah Palmer was near the large overhanging observation platform, her helmet off as one of her team members treated a savage wound that led from her temple nearly to her jaw. Blood was pooled in a puddle on the deck, but it had stopped gushing with the application of biofoam and a bandage.

Palmer looked up at Morgan. "Ma'am. What are your orders?"

Morgan pulled her helmet off, feeling the recycled air of the armor giving way to the ship's recycled air, only marginally better in her opinion. "Rearm, repair, lick your wounds. We got slapped, and not with an open palm. We caught the back of whatever hand came at us. I've directly encountered multiple Spartans KIA. Have commanders update their rosters and recover their bodies when able." She saw Palmer grimace, not at the pain in the wound, but at the loss of Spartans. It was never good to lose a comrade, but the fact that Spartans had been cut down, it didn't bode well for an extended campaign if it came down to it.

A nod as Palmer listened, and Morgan went on. "Gravity well generator keeping us in this place has been spotted, we're planning to take it out. Crown will be moving with whatever else Del Rio decides to give us, and we'll drop it and then get the hell out of here. Still plenty we don't know here, so you and the others will be getting your information on the fly. So, at this point, plan for anything and everything. Stay flexible. Otherwise…" Morgan shrugged, and Palmer watched her. "Just stay ready to move at a moment's notice. Weapons and armor on at all times."

Palmer licked her lips, and nodded again. "Yes, ma'am. I'll pass the information on. We'll be ready when you need us."

Morgan gave a nod, but internally sighed with relief. Wherever things took them now, she had no idea, but she didn't like it, and her mind once again wandered back to the Chief and Cortana as she left S Deck, moving to the Spartan bridge to stay close to the bridge and ready for anything.

Something about them had changed since she'd last seen them, and it wasn't for the better.

Chapter Text

Author's note: Shorter than usual chapter, but I think it's better to be shortened, a nice little interlude to the combat that we usually see. I hope you guys like it, and thanks for your continued support

To Qrs-jg: Once again, you're on the money. Palmer was a corporal before becoming a Spartan. Definitely a good line soldier or small team member/leader, but jumping all the way up to Infinity command? That was a bit of a stretch to me too. I'm pleased that you liked my interpretation of Del Rio! I thought he was used badly. The Navy wanted him in place because he would prioritize the ship, and he did that, but he failed to adapt as a commander and realize the Didact's threat was incredibly massive and he should have tried harder to prevent it, or better, to support the Master Chief in some way before running. Lastly, the Strident frigates might be in the ship, but you never see them in 4 until possibly the last mission, so I'm going off of the assumption the Stridents were added in the refit that Infinity got the year after 4. Thanks for your review!

Could you sacrifice me to complete your mission? Could you watch me die?

32 hours passed slowly, with Infinity resting on her belly in the middle of the jungle that she had come down in. The ship was more than visible, given her large bulk, rising out of the trench that she had carved into the surface. It was as if a black monument had been erected, but there was nobody to worship it or remember it when it was still bristling with anger at having been invaded and damaged.

Turrets still spun rapidly, checking fire zones to both ensure they would be up and waiting in case of another attack. Missile bay doors remained closed, but ready to pop open and belch out their contents. Marine fireteams in Warthog convoys were scattered on the ground around the ship, while Pelicans sat high overhead, armed with air-to-air and air-to-ground attack munitions. They had been set up in rotations, a group of them up in the air at all times, before returning to refuel and switch crews. Surge operations that remained in a constant cycle of ships was what a carrier like Infinity was designed for, after all.

Mechanics and engineers were all over the ship, focusing on bringing her back online and repairing any damage that had been brought to her corridors. The tertiary reactor was functioning at full capacity now, and could power most things, but the secondary and primary would need to be functioning to power shields, weapons, and propulsion all at once, much less get her off the ground. Shield banks had been restored and functioned properly, but there was no real use in bringing them online and straining the tertiary reactor again. Weapons were what got the lion's share of the energy flowing through her veins.

Other divisions of maintenance personnel, assigned to each of the wings and repair bays for the ground and air units, were just as hard at work. Plenty of material and vehicles had been damaged or outright destroyed in the crash. Warthogs and Pelicans were being repaired after the fall, some being out of action entirely and cannibalized for spare parts that were checked over by techs before being stored for last ditch repair efforts. Nobody wanted a hand-me-down part that was part of something that had been stressed already. That was just asking for trouble.

Even the massive M510 Mammoth ultra-heavy siegebreakers were being checked over and prepped for combat. Crews were looking over the interior, using and reusing every bell and whistle to make sure they were ready to storm out of the ship and onto the surface to conduct heavy extended operations. They were a modern take on the super heavy land battleship concept that had been eyeballed throughout the 20th century and beyond. A miniature MAC cannon capable of holing anything up to a Covenant picket ship or, if the crew was lucky, a frigate, should it get too close and too careless. Heavy armor was rated to take even shelling by Wraiths and emplaced weapons. The only true worry a Mammoth had was boarders, but UNSC service personnel would hold that line and slam the door in the face of anyone who didn't think about wiping their feet before entering the vehicle's interior.

Morgan, standing with arms crossed and her helmet hooked to her belt, watched as one of the Mammoths rumbled to life loudly, another test starting up under the watchful eyes of mechanics attached to one of the Marine battalions onboard. On the opposite side of the huge hangar bay, Pelicans were being worked on, her sharp ears picking out the sounds of distant impact drills and shouts, as well as a portable speaker blaring music a little too loud.

But who was she to tell them to turn it down? The crews all worked without issues, and all they had to do was ask the others to lower the volume. Otherwise, no other group was close enough for it to matter. They could all use some method or another to try and keep themselves focused on their tasks. Everybody on the ship could still smell the spent gunpowder and, in the corridors further in the ship that had concentrated the smells, dried blood and remnants of death.

97 Marines, 21 Sailors, and Six Spartans had been killed in the attack on Infinity. Most of the Sailors had been killed in the crash, but some had fallen in battle, unlucky enough to be caught by invading forces. The Marines had been a more even split between the downed birds from the advance recon element, and being shot in the halls of the ship.

The six Spartans, however, had all fallen in defense of the ship's interior. The two bridge guardians had been killed late in the fight by the massive Promethean crab, which had been dubbed a Leviathan, a larger variant of the Knights that doubled both as a command unit and a heavy weapons platform. One member of Fireteam Strider had been killed in the initial attack, one of Fireteam Oasis' members had gone down after a direct hit from the fuel rod cannon of a Hunter in one of the hangar bays further towards the stern, and the last two had both been part of Fireteam Anvil, overwhelmed by a suicide squad of Grunts that had stormed them to clear the way towards the bridge.

She had only just finished updating her roster and rolling the teams that had lost members together to prevent the Spartan corps from having understrength units. It bothered her, having finished extra parts of the job. She had never had to write a letter to a family, or to try and put into words what it meant to lose somebody she'd only seen in passing.

Her letter writing had originally been truthful, but cold in how it came off. She had no idea who the Spartan was, and outside of writing how they'd died and the reason for it, there was nothing more to say. Monsoon had interjected, albeit indirectly, calling for Castille to enter her commander's office.

Morgan had been surprised, asking what she could help her with, and Castille had moved closer as she brought up Monsoon's summons, frowning at the way Morgan was writing letters.

The former medic's response to reading one of them was disapproving, and looked over at her. Blue eyes met green, and Castille gestured to the screen.

"Commander, you need to be more compassionate with these, more sympathetic. You've lost people, right?"

Morgan had nodded. Everybody had. Nobody had come out of the Great War unscathed.

"Then you know how it feels. It hurts, it never goes away, but in the beginning, when you get told about it… it's hell."

She knew that. She knew how much it had hurt, to watch Noble go down one by one and watch Reach disappear under the pillars of glassing beams. A swallow, another nod. "What would you have me do? Lie?"

Castille had been slow to respond to that, the pale woman's refined face contorting in a thoughtful expression that didn't fit on such a massive armored body. "No, ma'am. I'm just saying that… instead of being completely honest, you sort of… stretch the truth a little bit."

"But what does that solve? Wouldn't they want to know how their loved one died?"

Castille shook her head, pursing her lips. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying that it might be a better idea to be softer, and tell the truth that doesn't detail how they went down or what caused it directly."

Morgan had still been confused on the purpose of it, and her medically inclined Spartan team mate had decided to show her. A few minutes passed, a letter had been typed out, a moment where Morgan had realized that even now, years later and a taste of civilian life, hadn't done much at all to change her outlook from so many years of Marines dying on her, or even Noble's loss.

She had written the rest of them, with Castille giving her time in private before coming back to look over them and assure the Spartan III that she had gotten it right, however hard it may have been to find what was truly right and wrong in such a matter. The families that were informed of the loss of their loved ones by those letters would never see a right or a wrong, and the process had banged it into Morgan's head.

The entire time, Morgan's thoughts had gone back to hearing about the loss of Beta Company, and how she had felt nothing but surprise at the loss of hundreds of Spartans on a suicide mission. It had grown over time, with each loss of Noble. Jorge disappearing into the eleven dimensions of Slipspace with the super carrier over Reach. Kat's life being snuffed out in an instant because of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Carter's sacrifice to get them to the shipbreaking yards, already having been on borrowed time after vacating Sword Base's ruins. Emile, volunteering to stay behind and give the Autumn a way out, give her a way out.

Six, time for you to leave. Get the package to the pad, and get the hell off this planet. I've got your back.

Emile's orders to her had been filled with finality, and that grinning skull filled her mind's eye, as well as another thought.

The night before Greer had shown up at her house, she'd had another nightmare, one that had come for no reason and without warning. She had stared back into the face of another helmet, a Mark V that looked just like hers, and it had been pierced through the visor. Blackness had been all that she saw at first, before a flash of lightning revealed the eye within had been hers.

A dream, something that had been in the back of her mind since the planet went dark, disappearing behind her as she escaped against all odds. She was supposed to die on Reach, to be left behind and fight until she ran out of ammo, ran out of shields, ran out of the very life that filled her veins. In another world, Morgan-B312 had fallen with the rest of Noble, had been buried under the glassing beams and left like all the other ghosts that filled the ruins of Aszod's shipbreaking yard.

Another time.

Another place.

Another plaque to put on that statue that filled her thoughts again for the first time in a long time.

"Commander?"

A voice broke her from her reverie, one she'd always remember, always pick out in a crowd, always look for when the lights went out and the darkness returned.

Her wife stood in front of her, and even as Morgan's eyes refocused, she watched her wife already in the midst of dismissing the other pilot that had been with her. Hocus knew that look in the Spartan's eyes, sharp as ever but still looking clouded, glazed over, lost. She had seen it many times before.

They were alone now, albeit still standing in the open. They weren't far from the hangar wall and one of the doors that would lead further into the ship. Anybody could come through and they would be within arm's reach again.

Morgan caught her wife's eyes, blinking once. "Need something?" She asked, feigning ignorance.

Hocus – Amber – frowned at the bigger woman. "Some privacy, for one."

Morgan's face tightened slightly. She had been found out almost immediately. "Fair enough. Professionally or otherwise?"

"Otherwise. My bird's being checked over and my rotation is ending. We have plenty of time."

Morgan licked her lips, before nodding at her. "Wait one." Slipping her helmet back on, she reconnected to the ship's network. "Monsoon."

The AI responded in her helmet immediately, a small picture of her face appearing in Morgan's HUD. "Yes, Commander?"

"I'll be going to my quarters for a time. Anything happens, you can reach me on the TACPAD. August has command of Crown until I return. Otherwise, I'll be needing some privacy."

"Yes, Commander."

She thought for a moment as she slipped the helmet back off and onto her hip. The AI was a very nice point of contact, someone that she enjoyed having around, but admittedly, they rarely interacted. It was like the relationship with DOT back during her stint with Noble.

Morgan looked back to her wife, jerking her head to the door. "You have my attention then."

Amber jerked her head to the door as well. "Lead the way, Commander."

Morgan narrowed her eyes, and took a breath but nodded, and turned to the lead the way. Neither would speak of things until they entered their quarters.

It wasn't exactly a secret that they were together, a vast majority of the people posted to Infinity had their spouses stationed onboard, but few were posted together, and even fewer were Spartans. Anybody who looked at the ship's roster could come to the conclusion given their last names, but it wasn't the first conclusion people would make unless they knew the berthing situation. Neither got much time to speak to the other, and there weren't many in the halls that could see them enter their quarters at the same time. As far as she knew, almost nobody in the Spartan detachment knew of it, save for her fireteam, and that was only because Castille was in the know about it. It didn't matter whether people knew it or not, in the end. Neither talked about it was all.

The door opened for the two women, and they stepped inside before it closed again, sealing them in alone. Monsoon would have already excused herself. There was no need for her to snoop, and she was far more willing to keep to herself, unlike Cortana.

Gesturing to the couch, Morgan moved to one of the reinforced chairs she had pulled into the room for when she was in armor. It was rare, but better to have it than not. Her helmet came off, held in two armored hands. "Now, what was it that made you want privacy?"

Amber sat down across from her, setting her flight helmet on her lap. "Was gonna say hi and keep moving, but you had that look about you again."

Morgan raised her eyebrow. "Which one?"

"You know the one. The one where you get lost in that brain of yours again."

Morgan wanted to lie, to say no, to push it all back down. They had been in heavy contact less than a day ago, with enemy forces not just inside their ship, but their home. They were essentially stranded inside of a hostile planetoid, with no way home yet, and no true indication of whether or not they would even get off the ground. It was still less than optimistic. Things were heating up quickly, and she was going back to the thought process where her mind and the contents became non-essential, became distractions that could get her killed.

If she had to deal with it, it could wait, couldn't it? Morgan's eyes locked onto her wife again, and she realized it couldn't. The pilot had been an unstoppable force over the years. It had been tough at first, with Morgan struggling to let her in, struggling to find the words, to work them out of her rather than letting those thoughts fester even longer.

"It's different now."

"Different how?" Her wife had her hands in her lap, resting on the helmet, rather than crossed with her arms. Her voice was low, not containing any hint of anger or exasperation. She'd always been a calm listener. Classified information on the Spartan programs had come to light in the years after the war, and Morgan had opened up about her past. There was still plenty she didn't know, and Amber had always tried to remain patient and open minded, especially in the face of a woman that had abandoned everything at a young age to become a war machine.

"It was one thing to lose people I knew, cared about. It hurt. It still hurts. Losing others I didn't know wasn't as much of a hit. I could just… keep moving, forget about them. Now, I'm writing these letters to families about these people I barely got to know since coming aboard and it feels… wrong to write these letters the way I am, and I can't just forget about them now."

"Hate to say it, babe, but it never gets any easier." Amber's voice was level, and while Morgan could tell there was sympathy in it, her wife had never lied to her and stretched the truth.

"I know that well enough by now, but I never expected this." Morgan fidgeted in her seat, looking down at the deck.

"Nobody ever does. War is more than just shooting back and forth, and the military as well. It's fifty percent sitting around, bored out of your mind, forty percent getting told to do meaningless bullshit by someone because reasons and then having to do it despite it all, nine percent drinking and sleeping wherever you can, and then the last half percent is a mixture between training and being neck deep in the shit." She shrugged, her own eyes seemed to tear away. "For people like us, that aren't just grunts being ordered around, you have to slide a new block of suck into it. Dealing with subordinates, their troubles, their wants and needs, keeping them happy, and lastly, dealing with the fallout when they die."

Morgan looked back up, but the brown eyes of the other woman didn't meet hers. "Well, I shouldn't say dealing with it. That makes it sound like a hassle, and honestly? It kinda is, but it's part of the job." Another shrug.

The Spartan's frown grew deeper. "We've never had to deal with that. Spartans die and that's the end of it. Nobody was supposed to remember us except the clerks who typed MIA in our files, our team mates if we had them, and… that was it. Nobody is left as far as I'm aware that remembers Noble past the statue, the videos that were taken on Reach, whatever else."

"That's all you can do sometimes. You keep their tags, don't you? I've seen them on you almost every time I've seen you out of armor since we met."

Morgan reached up to her chest plate, as if she could feel the necklace that her own dog tags, and that of Jorge and Emile, hung on. She took her wedding ring off more than she took those tags off. A silent nod, and Amber went on.

"You're almost lucky, in a way. None of you had to worry too much about what happened after you kicked the bucket. Just keep going and hope you either live long enough to eventually forget, or you die and don't worry about it anymore."

Despite herself, Morgan chuckled, and Amber looked puzzled. "That's the thinking I had in the end, that either we finish the war and I get to take a break finally, or I die, and it's not my problem after that."

Amber swallowed, before nodding again. "Yeah, that's about the gist of it, ain't it? Speaking of dead Spartans, what about your friend? Big Green."

Morgan's smile, however shallow, disappeared. "He's… here. I don't know if he's back, but he's here."

"You mean he's changed since you last saw him."

"Figure five years on ice does that to someone, especially when they lock themselves away expecting to never be found again. I haven't gotten to talk to him yet, or Cortana. She's been kept in his armor, and he's been kept in meetings with either Lasky or Del Rio. Other than that, any sleep or food he's gotten, he's probably done it all alone. But something else is bothering me."

"Yeah?"

"Cortana. Something seems wrong with her. She was always cool and collected, except for the end. She seemed almost broken when we found her again, but now she seems to be going off the rails. You ever seen an angry AI?" A shake of Amber's head. "Me neither, until now. Cortana had some sort of… outburst. No idea why."

"You tell anyone about it?"

"Not yet. I need to find out for myself, but he's been busy so damn much that I can't get close. Whatever mission is going on to destroy the generator for the gravity well, he'll be going, and so will I."

Amber's face darkened slightly. "You took this so you could get out of the field but stay in and remember it all. You didn't take it to go and kick in doors and ass alike."

"No, but I need to figure it out, and this might be the only real way to do it and see Cortana under another stressful situation. She might be able to control it normally, but stress might exacerbate it."

The smaller pilot sighed, her southern drawl sounding again as she locked eyes with her wife. "If that's what you think is best, then do it. Just be careful, yeah?"

Morgan nodded and stood up. Amber stood as well, closing the distance as her wife said those words again.

"I promise."

That got a bit of a smile from Amber, and her hand stretched up to Morgan's cheek, one of her thumbs brushing against the once deathly pale skin, moving an errant strand of black hair. "You really do know how to reassure a girl, don't'cha?"

"On occasion."

A chuckle from the shorter woman, and her hand moved to the back of Morgan's neck, meeting the tech suit rather than her wife's warm skin. Morgan was quick to get the hint, and leaned down to share a kiss with her wife for the first time in a month that wasn't rushed or given by two sleepy people. They held it for a few seconds, before Morgan pulled away, and Hocus went on. "There. Now I can rest a little easier."

"Sorry it isn't much, and under the circumstances that we have."

Amber tsked. "I knew what I was getting myself into all those years ago. You don't have to apologize to me."

Morgan let out a relaxed huff, one that left her nose as her mouth turned up into a smile. "Maybe not… but I'll make it up to you when this tour's done."

"Damn right, now get out there, figure out what you need to figure out, whatever. I'll be waiting for you."

"Hopefully not too long."

Morgan let her last words hang, and turned to the door. Her wife followed along behind her, and the two went separate directions. Morgan went left, towards S Deck, Amber went right, back towards the nearest chow hall. She would be coming back to sleep soon.

The Spartan continued to stew as she stepped onto S Deck a few minutes later, immediately moving up to the overwatch point that her commanders used as an office away from their dedicated offices. Crown was waiting for her, and she nodded to them when they looked up as she entered.

Castille was the first to come to her, a datapad in hand. "We managed to get the Master Chief's old armor off. Had him switch into the GEN2 variant, but he picked the Mark VI rather than something else. We had GEN1 parts on hand, but he refused." She shrugged. "Information on the old set is on the datapad. Medics looked him over too, didn't say it out loud, but they recommend a full psych workup."

Morgan took the datapad and started looking over it, frowning and meeting Castille's eyes when she heard the part about the psych workup. "Agreed, but we probably won't be able to get it done properly while we're here. Best I can figure, he'll lie and say he's fine."

"What makes you say that?"

"We're neck deep in shit right now and he knows something that the rest of us don't. I know him well enough to know that he'll do anything to stay in the fight and try and finish whatever this is."

Castille pursed her lips. "But there could be something wrong with him."

Morgan gave a sardonic chuckle, despite herself. "Something wrong with him? There's always been something wrong with the IIs and IIIs. We just hide it better to deal with the mission at hand. That was our entire upbringing: compartmentalize, win the fight, deal with it when the world wasn't coming down around you."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Every non-ONI doctor that's ever had an opinion on us has said the same thing. Doesn't change the way we operate, and it definitely won't change him."

She handed the datapad back after finishing her skimming. Armor had been totally wrecked. Shield system was barely holding up after a run in with something big out in the wild, especially with all the issues that had started to plague it during their fighting at the end of the war. She was almost surprised that it hadn't failed before now, or suffered any sort of small failures throughout that time that had cascaded into something more.

But Castille seemed to drop the subject, although Morgan didn't miss the sigh from the former medic. When all this was over, Morgan would force him into a psych workup if she had to, but until then, she could only support him. There was something far more important going on than his stress and problems, according to him, but it didn't really matter what she thought on it. Even if he was put out of the fight, they'd still have to figure out how to get out of here. She wasn't a stranger to fighting on a mind hanging on by its last thread.

Didn't mean she had to like it though.

She waited for a time, looking over several datapads on their status and making plans to keep them ready to go whenever the ship got back into the air. Eventually, she saw him. The big olive colored armor was moving from the bridge further towards the stern, likely for his own berthing. His old armor had been discarded, damaged all to hell by the end of the war and with several deep pits in it, from the pictures that had been in the datapad she had looked over. Now, he was wearing the new model, one that looked significantly more angular and even different in plenty of ways. It almost deserved a new name.

She was quick to get down onto the deck and catch up with him. "Chief."

The helmet turned, and two golden visors met, reflecting each other, and not the people inside. His body turned around soon after, giving her his full attention. "Commander."

Morgan didn't say anything in return, gesturing towards an empty room nearby. He took the hint, leading the way and stepping inside before turning towards her as the door shut behind him.

"Been a while, John." Few said his name anymore, most of those that knew it personally either dead or thought he was dead, or were a high enough rank for it to be unprofessional.

"It has. What do you need from me, Commander?"

Her helmet unsealed with a hiss as she pulled it off and hooked it to her belt. "Morgan, Chief. I don't need the rank or the formalities. You and I fought together enough at the end that the rest of it doesn't matter. We're Spartans first."

He didn't respond for a moment, before he nodded. She went on. "What's going on? You've been with Lasky and Del Rio since you came aboard. Now you need to keep me updated too."

"A Forerunner Commander has been kept imprisoned in a stasis capsule for an undetermined amount of time. We were tricked into opening the capsule and now he's sworn revenge."

"Revenge?"

"He hates Humans, for one." Cortana's voice entered the conversation, sounding normal again, and Morgan frowned.

"And?"

"He's looking to finish what he apparently started who knows how many thousands of years ago. I couldn't find anything from what little time I had in the system, but safe to say, it's nothing good."

Her frown deepened. "So he's a top tier threat then. Have you brought this up with command?"

The Master Chief responded this time. "Of course. Their first priority is getting the ship into the air, but any further planning towards pursuing the Didact is secondary to that. I've started thinking of ways to go about it, but there are resources I need, support."

"Then you'll get it, I can promise you that. As soon as we get the ship into the air again, we can start tracking him down and ending him before this whole thing gets worse."

He nodded. "Thank you."

It was new, to hear the Master Chief thank her. It made her think for a moment, before she went on. "Short of anything else important, I have another question to ask, and I'd like to hear the answer from you, John."

He seemed to hesitate before he nodded. He knew what she was getting at. "Yes, ma'am." His voice was stony, but she doubted he would deny her the answer now, especially since there was no way out of it.

"What's wrong with Cortana?"

Cortana's voice came from the helmet speakers before he could respond. "Morgan, I-"

"I asked him, Cortana." Morgan's voice was hard as she cut the AI off, and she kept her eyes locked onto the Chief's visor, burning holes through it as she crossed her arms. She knew she was looking at his eyes. He wouldn't look away from her.

The Master Chief – John – took a few moments before his words came again. "She's suffering from rampancy."

Her gut twisted into a knot, and she felt her mouth dry out. Cortana? Rampant? It was a death sentence for any AI in UNSC custody. The first signs of rampancy, regardless of how long they were into their service life. No AI was safe for it, not even Cortana. If she knew Del Rio, and she was sure she knew him well enough by now, she would be decommissioned the instant he got wind of her rampancy.

Her eyes broke from his, and she started to pace, her entire form tensing up as the Master Chief and Cortana followed her movements.

She heard his voice again. "If we can stop the Didact, get her back to Earth, back to Halsey, we can fix her. Halsey would surely know how to fix it."

He almost sounded like he was pleading with her, something that she had never thought she would hear from the big man that had been the bulwark that the Covenant had crashed against at the end of the war all those years ago, that protected Humanity like a flood gate with extinction being a rotten ocean that was being held back still today.

There was no response for a while, and her sensitive ears heard the slightest movement of armor scraping against armor, of the tech suit flexing with each movement. He was fidgeting. Something he'd never done in her presence, and likely not since he was still a child. Something had gone very wrong in the five years since she'd seen them, and she knew that it wasn't his fault. He had been on ice the whole time, hadn't changed a bit.

It was Cortana that had changed, that was falling to pieces slowly, bit by bit, and he was suffering from losing the only constant he knew of. She remembered the time on the Shadow of Intent, with his visor staring over the frozen, corrupted recording of Cortana. She had felt her own world starting to shake when the AI had been left behind. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for the Chief, having spent longer with Cortana, having been watched over by the AI in the blackness of the void after the Ark portal collapsed and separated the two Spartans.

She had spent many sleepless nights thinking of the two, believing they had finally both given everything to end the war. Spartans had been made to give everything, to fight the war, to win it, to die in it. It was their job description simply to fight until the fighting was done or until there was no fight left in them and their life slipped away, their job done in some way or another. That was what she had believed. That he had accomplished his last objective, that he had made it through to the instant the clock struck midnight and was snuffed out at the very end.

But he hadn't. He was still here, and thinking about it, she realized that he was just like her. They had both lost so many of their brothers and sisters, and it seemed that all he had left now was Cortana, and the next mission, similar to how she had been at the end of it all, but Morgan had moved on and made a life outside of a war, had become something more than just a Spartan. She had become Human.

But had He? She had no idea. It was entirely possible that Cortana was all that kept him going now. She had been his guardian angel in the years in the darkness, had been his guiding force during the first Halo conflict, and even been what pushed him through the final hours of the war when they had reclaimed her, had been the one to personally fire the ring prematurely and bring an end to that damnable conflict.

Then her thoughts melted away, retreated back into the box that she kept them in with the rest of her ghosts. Maybe Kat was finally good for something, and was keeping her thoughts on a leash. Then again, maybe Kat had finally gotten tired of harassing her over the years and went back to that little village of habitation modules for good.

She doubted it.

The Chief stood there, watching her, his visor not saying anything. That was one luxury that visors afforded them. Spartans could tell their siblings' body movements down to a hair's accuracy, owing to the fact that faces were always covered. She almost wanted to tell him to take the damned thing off for a little while, let his skin see the light of day, but that wasn't her place. If he wanted to keep himself sealed away, then who was she to say otherwise?

He waited patiently, his fidgeting having stopped at some point. "Tell me, Chief… do you honestly think we can finish this and get her back to Earth? Get her fixed up and keep her going?"

There was no hesitation this time. "I do."

"And how much are you willing to sacrifice to take these risks?"

"Everything."

"Including your life? Mine?"

There was a pause to his answer this time. Eventually, he answered, but it was longer than the other pauses. "I'd give my life to save Cortana, to save Humanity. But…"

Morgan waited, her arms crossed, and the Chief went on.

"...I don't know if I could put the rest of the ship or crew at risk."

Doubt. Another first. Morgan simply nodded. "I see. Keep her rampancy a secret from Del Rio and Lasky. Most importantly Del Rio. Lasky is a wild card. You have my support, but… it's all up in the air from here."

He started to respond, but she cut him off. "That being said, I truly do hope we can find this fix of yours, stop the Didact, and get you two home. It's been too long, and the two of you could use a break." She looked down at the deck, her shoulders falling as she felt the stress of the situation hitting her like a sack of bricks. When she finally looked back up at him, her face was set in stone. "It's good to have you both back. That'll be all, Master Chief."

Her helmet came back up as he nodded, and it sealed her back inside as she turned her back and left, her mind filled with even more to keep her unsettled about the future at hand and what this might mean for not only her, or the pair that she had just left in that room, but for all of Humanity.

Chapter Text

It's been a while since my last upload. I'm not dead, I'm not leaving the story unfinished, I promise. Last year was a bit... well, we all know how last year went. The muse left and I kinda lost the way on where I was going. But, here we are! I won't promise when my next upload will come, but it will, one day. Thanks for sticking with me after so much radio silence.

What is fate, but a collection of hourglasses full of enough sand to fill the beach a thousand times over?

Morgan's battle rifle clacked as she pulled the bolt back and let it catch a round, pushing forward and shoving it out of the magazine. The round slid into the chamber and the bolt closed on it with one last flicker of brass in the overhead lighting of Hangar 20B-H. Her weapon was full and she was ready to step back out onto the field. Her team was with her, their usual loadouts plus more ready as they waited.

In front of them, a Mammoth Super Heavy Siege vehicle was letting down its rear gate, exposing its interior, full of techs and the computer banks and machinery needed to move such a monster. Boxes of weapons and ammo were being shuttled onboard as well and pushed into slots on weapon racks. Even a pair of Warthogs were being loaded inside, one armed with a chaingun, as was normal, and the other with a heavy gauss cannon.

Each person on her team was carrying two primary weapons, most of them with their normal primary, modified or otherwise, and a secondary that complemented it. They were loaded down with extra ammo and extra pouches had been attached to spots on their armor. Sidearms were carried as well, but those were looking more and more like last resorts or emergency measures if both weapons ran dry during a heavy spot in a fight.

They had been briefed already, and would be mounting up for a six hour drive, rolling out of the long gangplanks Infinity had for her Mammoth hangars before she lifted off the ground again and took to the skies. The engineering and maintenance crews had done their best, and it showed. All of the ship's systems were back online and running, but they weren't certain of her ventral armor after the impact. If anything got beneath them, they might have a weak spot.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glint of green, and turned further towards it. The Master Chief was loaded up as well, an MA5C in his hands and the stock of a SAW peeking over his shoulder.

Prepping the battle rifle in her hands, she was for once without a shotgun, something almost unheard of. A Spartan Laser was hooked to her back, the weight more than noticeable when she was rarely seen with anything more than small arms. Glancing up to August, she jerked her head towards the Mammoth. He nodded without a word and held his hand up to the team, waiting for them all to look before he moved his wrist in a circle and pointed to the interior. They all started moving at that signal and left their commander alone.

The Chief stopped short, looking at her as she laid eyes on him again. "Commander."

She felt a hint of a frown. "Chief. You ready for this?"

"Yes, ma'am. Always."

She nodded slowly. "Good." They had both been at the briefing, one of the rooms next to the bridge having housed Fireteam Crown and the Chief, as well as multiple Marines that would be embarked inside the Mammoth, the crew, and air crews that might be used in the fight. He had heard it all, so she didn't have to rehash it. "You have a plan to catch the Didact yet?"

He slowly shook his head. It seemed he was going to have to make it up on the fly as he went. They were all good at that, but she thought he might be the best. "Fair enough. Let's load up then."

Without another word, she turned and headed up the ramp into the Mammoth, moving up the stairs from the well deck to the command deck, where Lasky was already waiting for her, along with multiple technicians. "I see you didn't get enough of your trip through the jungle with us, Commander."

Lasky looked back at her, giving her a half smile. "It gets boring on the ship."

She returned it through her visor, knowing he wouldn't see it anyway. "You can say that again, but it's probably a good idea to learn to love the boring."

Lasky seemed to mull it over, before nodding slowly. "I think I'll take that to heart next time, but until then, I'd like to get some air. Bridge gets a little stuffy."

"Nobody said you had to stay on the bridge, just the ship, and you have five whole kilometers to explore."

Lasky gave her a look that was almost a warning, and she took the hint. He spoke up afterwards. "Either way, we've got a long drive ahead of us. Ship's sending drones to the coordinates to get an eye on the area and initial scans. When we get in range, the Mammoth will ping the place and get more detail overlaid onto it."

"Sounds good to me. How do you wanna do rotations?"

"We've got enough crew onboard for a three on, three off skeleton, and fill the crew for operations. Enough Marines to guard the place and man weapons on top that aren't remote controlled. Spartans should be free to move around as needed. In terms of command, myself and Chief Warrant Officer Harrison can keep ourselves ready until something happens. You and your team can just stay on the ready, figure out who's gonna do what. There are enough of you to fully fill the two Hogs and you can stock some of the ammo and weapons that aren't being used into them if you want."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Negative. You're free to do whatever. I'll be here if you need me."

Lasky turned away from her, attempting to ready the Mammoth for departure. Morgan took that as her cue to return to her team and the Master Chief. They were all on the bottom deck, either helping to fit weapons into racks or putting extra materials into the Warthogs. They set about prepping for their own deployments when the bullets started flying. They would react to contact as fast, mobile escorts able to deal with anything that got within the Mammoth's perimeter and go on foot if need be.

Twenty minutes passed before a red light on the ceiling of the lower deck flashed green, and the Mammoth's powerplant flooded the big vehicle's veins with energy, pushing it forward and down the heavily reinforced gang plank. Trees were in the way when the Mammoth rolled onto solid ground, but they didn't matter much. The sound of cracking and shuddering in the hull was all that came from outside as the Mammoth pushed through the dense jungle without a problem, growling as it forced its way through to its destination.

All that was left to do now was to wait, and hope that their job would be without too many issues.

Morgan had settled in for the ride, little else to do in the six hour trip aside from check and recheck her weapons again. Outside, the environment and their surroundings changed over time. The Mammoth had rolled through the jungle that Infinity had been brought down in and passed out of its humid embrace within the first hour, giving way to open plains that had rolled underneath the massive wheels like gentle waves. There had been wildlife in the area, but none of it looked familiar to her, and it all seemed to be skittish at the sight of the siege vehicle.

The plains had ceased their rolling at some point when she hadn't been paying attention, and had switched over to a rocky highland, and the Mammoth had pushed through a large break in what could have been a mountain anywhere else, but it seemed almost like the path had been made for just such an occasion.

Finally, they had come to a series of canyons, sun baked rocks and deep crevices, sheer cliffs and distant lakes below in artificially eroded lands. It was all almost natural in its own way, and if Morgan had set her eyes on it anywhere else, without knowing she was in an artificial world, she might have thought that it was just as normal as everything else. Then again, the Forerunners were good at the whole artificial planets and land masses thing.

Stepping back up to the bridge, Lasky was in place again, having taken the second shift from Chief Harrison so he could be ready to go as soon as they entered contact. He was still distracted with looking over the sensor readbacks, the Mammoth's sensors having picked up their targets from a range of twenty miles not long ago. They were getting closer, and their job was about to start.

With a thought, her armor sent the ready signal to Crown and the Chief, who had essentially become Crown Six, something that wasn't lost on her when she had slotted him into the team's roster. "What's our status?"

Lasky turned for just a moment, getting a look at her before he gestured her forward toward the small holo projector that worked as the Mammoth's situational awareness display and briefing table. "Initial scans got some of the place right, but there's a lot going on here. Sheer cliffs, landslides, and impassable terrain to the Warthogs. We'll need the Mammoth to make it through the gauntlet."

She looked over the display herself, her arms crossing as she stood next to Lasky, spotting the Chief coming up out of the corner of her eye. "And targets?"

"We've got three airspace denial assets to blow before we can get to the gravity well generator. Large scale particle cannons in the area will blow a hole in the Infinity with her shields down the way they are now. Final readiness report says we aren't going to get shields online any time soon, so this is a must." Swiping the display, it expanded, but decentered and showed three Pelican dropships coming in from the south, following one of the canyons at Nap-of-Earth flight to stay hidden. "Dropships armed with designator pods are coming to provide long range targeting information for the Mammoth's mini-MAC, callsigns Trident One One, Trident Two One, Trident Three One."

Morgan pointed to the Pelicans. "What if they can't get eyes on?"

"If the birds go down or bug off, we have short range laser designators that can do the job, but we'll have to get closer to our targets and that might not always be viable given the terrain."

She frowned slightly, keying her headset mic. "August, grab two laser designators. One for you, one for me. Hang on to it until I come down there. Will brief in a few."

"Yes ma'am."

Looking back to Lasky, she went on. "Understood. Anything else?"

"Captain's gonna be briefing in just a minute. Hang tight and he should be-"

Lasky was cut off by the sound of an incoming hail. One of the techs called it out. "Commander, Infinity Actual, channel One Zero Five, Zero Zero Zero."

Lasky started hitting a few switches on the holo table. "I copy, put it through."

A moment passed before a small hologram of Del Rio appeared on the table, looking as arrogant as usual and with his hands behind his back, one hand holding the other as he was known to do. "Infinity to Mastodon. How copy?"

The Commander took the initiative, being the field commander of the Mammoth. "Mastodon is reading you five by five, Captain. Standing by to receive brief."

"Multiple targets in your AO. Mammoth scans sent back to Infinity have helped us define their kill zone and Monsoon has listed those particle cannons as priority one. Estimates indicate a direct hit could leave the ship a mobility kill that we won't be able to fix. Needless to say, that means your job must be done." The small figure gestured as the Mammoth's systems synced with Infinity's via data link, and the holographic representation of the area moved in time with the one on the ship. "Trident flight will be designating with guidance lasers and providing coordinates for the mini-MAC. Jamming has been encountered in the area, so electronic interference is expected, and possible thermal as well. Be prepared to engage with handheld designators as a last resort."

The Master Chief spoke up. "Captain, what's the threat assessment for our operational area?"

Del Rio frowned, looking over the Spartan for a moment before he went on. "Recon was not dispatched. Our intention is to blow through, destroy the particle cannons, and get the ship ready for departure. Recon would only give us another moving part to compromise our movements and possibly get entrenched, and the violence of action does not allow us to take any more time than needed."

The Master Chief didn't respond, and Del Rio went on. "Unless there are any other questions, we're on a time table. I expect mission complete in the next hour and a half. The Mammoth shouldn't suffer any problems dealing with this assignment. Del Rio out."

With that, the small man on the table disappeared, and Morgan looked to Lasky. The older man's visage was slightly miffed, but he didn't say anything out of line, and neither did Morgan. The radio buzzed again a moment later, on the same channel, and Sarah Palmer's voice came through.

"Mastodon, Spartan Sarah Palmer. I'll be your operator for this mission."

Morgan was the one to respond this time. "We hear you, Palmer."

"I'll handle coordination between the Pelicans and the Mammoth with the ship's sensors, keep them on target and keep you advised of any changes we pick up. We're a hundred miles to your north, but be advised, signals coming from the area are leading back towards a hard point to your southwest that seems to be controlling the particle cannons, a tower of some sort, considered possible secondary target if allowed. Command wants you to clear the way, hit the target, and the Infinity will provide stand off fireon the gravity well generator once the cannons are knocked out."

Morgan nodded to the Chief, and he moved downstairs back to the well deck without another word. "Copy all, Palmer. Crown will be riding escort. You'll be talking with Lasky more than me this op."

"Yes, ma'am. Don't be a stranger."

"Never by choice, Palmer."

With that, Morgan stepped away from the holotable, and heard Lasky and Palmer start going back and forth as she went down to the well deck where the two hogs were sitting ready. August and Castille were in the front vehicle, with the Master Chief up on the rear pedestal that held the LAAG. The second vehicle had Hammonds and Wright, the gauss cannon empty and waiting for her to hop onboard.

Climbing up into place on the back of the vehicle and grabbing onto the handles, her thumbs reaching for the firing studs, and she settled into place. The front ramp started to hiss open and the Mammoth rocked on its monstrous suspension, before coming to a halt. The front Warthog eased forward, engine growling in the interior, the sound bouncing off of the walls as it pushed forward and out into the sunlight. The second Hog followed close behind, Wright adjusting the shifter to his right expertly and sticking to the trail the other Hog had made.

"Hog One, Hog Two, take left and right, stick close to Mastodon until we're contacted. Guns up, I'm expecting company."

Her orders received, the two Hogs maneuvered as if it had been scripted. Getting a look at the area now, Morgan could see the sheer cliff face rising to her right, and a nasty drop off on the left that opened up to a fall that ended several hundred meters below. They would be riding the wall this time. There was plenty of space for the Warthogs and Mammoth to maneuver, enough for three Mammoths to ride abreast with some breathing room, but anything could happen. Their first target would be hidden behind a bend to the right in front of them, two hundred meters ahead.

Overhead, three Pelicans hovered into view, their voices filtering in on the command channel.

"Mastodon, Trident flight on station, prepped to paint a picture on your targets." The male voice on the other end was cool and collected, the three Pelicans having popped up where the left cliff dropped off. They were on level with the Mammoth, not wanting to fly too high.

Lasky responded, the Mammoth setting off again, the huge wheels crushing stones underneath. "Mastodon copies. Standby for additional tasking. First target, 800 meters south."

"Trident copies."

Morgan gave the order to advance a hundred meters from the Mammoth, to keep them in sight of the Mammoth's onboard defenses and to have ample time to prevent enemy ground vehicles from getting too close and getting underneath the defensive guns.

The Warthogs roared and fishtailed for a moment before catching traction and pushing forward, their guns swiveling and their passengers propped up on top of their seats, weapons ready as eyes peered through scopes and sights.

The small force was merely seven vehicles, with three of them being normal Pelicans, but they had the firepower of a force many times their size in the Mammoth's mini-MAC. It rolled forward behind the Warthogs with all the angry fury of the MACs that had been placed onboard ships for so many years now, and the firing of it on the first target would more than measure up to the trumpet of the ancient animal the vehicle was named after.

The Warthogs rounded the first corner, and Morgan's green eyes spotted their first target. A single sphere orbited by three curved prongs floated quietly, the red firing device in its core glowing an angry red in the mid day sun.

To their left, the Pelicans of Trident flight hovered into place, one of them going nose on to get a shot at the particle cannon ready for the Mammoth, still coming around the corner at a decent clip.

Comms chatter in her ear again. "Trident One One, target acquired, painting first particle cannon. Jamming interference preventing accurate coordinate lock.

Palmer's voice came through, filled with warning. "Trident One One, drop altitude, you're in the kill zone."

"Just a moment more, almost acquired…" The Pelican continued to hover in place, trying its hardest to paint the target, but it couldn't handle the jamming.

"Energy build up detected! Trident flight, drop altitude, now!"

Palmer's warning was too late, and the red eye in the center of the cannon lit up with energy, the three prongs around it acting as focusing arms. The shot left the cannon's core and crossed the distance to the flight of Pelicans in an instant. Light speed wasn't even a consideration when you were within spitting distance of a miniature sun.

Two Pelicans were vaporized the same instant the cannon had fired, gone without a trace, as if they had never existed. The third Pelican was nearly torn in half, the right wing and rear stabilizer gone completely, leaving behind blistered metal that had been melted down, white hot remnants showing their base.

Mortally wounded, the Pelican started to fall like a rock, spinning like a top as the pilot's first instinct was to throttle up and try to escape another shot. All it did was spin the ship faster, dropping towards the ground despite the pilot's best efforts.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! Trident Three One is going in hard!"

The pilot called out for help, and the six Spartans and Mastodon watched as it went in behind a series of rocks, followed by the sound of it impacting. Metal was torn again, echoing off of the canyon.

Morgan ignored Lasky's status update to Palmer in her ear, the call of a Pelican down coming second to her own instincts. "Mastodon, Crown is going to grab survivors and recover anything or anyone that survived the crash.

Harrison responded this time, with Lasky still busy. "Mastodon copies, holding position until designators are ready to provide coordinates."

Behind them, the Mammoth halted, rocking on its suspension again as more Marines rushed onto the top of the siege vehicle, manning all of the turrets and watching the skies and ground while Fireteam Crown's hogs rocketed off towards the Pelican's crash site, inky black smoke rising into the sky already.

Her legs bent and straightened with each bump in the road as the Warthogs accelerated, shocks absorbing the heavy vehicle's kinetic energy and the engines roaring loudly. In her peripheral, she saw Hog One's passenger, Castille, waving at Hog Two. Morgan glanced over, only to see Castille start waving to the right. Following the gesture, Morgan spotted a break in the cliffside. Castille's voice came over the radio, loud and clear. "Hog One breaking right, scans from Mastodon show this is where Trident went down. Follow us in."

Wright responded quickly, easing off the gas for only a moment to let Hog One take the lead, and fell in behind them without a word. Ahead, the break in the cliffside turned to the right, and they slowed to take the turn, before another to the left opened up into a rocky clearing, with Trident's only survivor bent out of shape and laying in a heap of metal and, at this point, open flames.

The right side was still red hot, and the bird had gone in tail first, most of the rear section ripped off and scattered across the clearing. The main body, from the troop bay forward, was crumpled and deformed. The nose had been crushed, the ballistic glass coating the ground all around the bird in glittering shards as Hog One led the way.

They split, each hog choosing the left or right side as they accelerated again. "Castille, when we get to the bird, you're point. Get the survivors out. Hammonds, take the gauss."

Green status lights replied without another word, and Hog One slid into place, rocks and dust kicked up as Castille threw herself from the vehicle before it stopped moving, legs already kicking as she hit the ground at a run and barreled forward. Morgan followed close behind as Wright threw the Warthog into a powerslide that had it stop with the front grille facing back the way they'd come. Hammonds slung himself up onto the gun and Morgan pushed for the Pelican.

When she made it into the troop bay, a fire had already broken out along the port side ceiling, where several wires hung sparking and more smoke poured out of a conduit housing. It was small for now, but it would only grow, and the fuel tanks would be going up soon, with the ammunition ready to pop off at any moment.

"Castille!"

"Cockpit! One survivor, status red!"

Morgan moved forward, seeing Castille was already at work on the pilot in the front half of the cockpit, the bubble canopies revealing the sky. The copilot was slumped against their station, and when Morgan pulled the body up to look at it, she could see where the impact had smashed their head against the console, leaving a dent in their helmet, a broken console, and more than a few issues where the controls had acted against the pilot. Frowning, she tore their tags from their neck and pocketed them. Castille was already on her way out.

The pilot, a man who now sported a limp and unnatural looking arm, was being carried along by the medical Spartan. Morgan trusted Castille to get the man stabilized, and called in the pilot's status. "Mastodon, Crown Actual, pilot recovered, copilot KIA. Sending Hog One to return with the casualty."

" Mastodon copies. Moving forward to the break. Be advised, radar reports multiple  dropship level  craft inbound from further along the route, including a few Banshee escorts."

Harrison's call back to her was punctuated by multiple rockets from the MLRS batteries on top of Mastodon firing at the incoming bogies, screaming through the air and impacting against at least one of the enemy fliers. That would complicate things.

Castille was already loading the pilot into the front seat of Hog One, strapping him in and forcing herself into the small amount of space behind the seat. Only her leg and part of her lower body could fit. If there was a rollover, she'd be toast, but there was no other real way to put another person onto a gunned Hog like this.

Loading back up, taking the passenger seat, Morgan readied her battle rifle. Hog One had started rolling, with Hog Two following like a shadow. The whine of plasma fire filled the air, along with the chatter of rotary guns and the crack of gauss cannons on Mastodon's roof, before a somewhat distant explosion sounded.

Exiting the small area that Trident Three One had gone down in, the two Warthogs spotted Mastodon, having closed the distance and come to a halt to wait on the Hogs, mini-MAC primed and ready. Hog One rolled into the bay, and Hog Two followed, the Spartans disembarking and making for the roof quickly. Before Morgan could run up the stairs behind them, August grabbed the two designators that had been picked out before, tossing one to her and sliding the other onto his hip. Castille remained behind as more medics pushed down from the upper decks to work on Three One's pilot.

But that was out of her hands, and she and August climbed the stairs quickly until they exited back out into the sunlight and Morgan grabbed the designator in both hands, pointing it at the particle cannon as her comms lit up. "Mastodon, designator live. Fire when ready!" Calling out to her squad, she braced them. "Mastodon is firing, grit your teeth!"

One of the techs in charge of the MAC responded. "Mastodon copies. Target acquired, coordinates entered. Charging. Charging. Charging." A moment's pause. "Shot, over."

Behind her, the mini-MAC cracked, sending a MAC round out at many times the speed of sound, the heavy slug traversing the distance between the end of the barrel and the particle cannon in a fraction of an instant, little more than a bright white spear that penetrated the particle cannon and went out the other side with an ear piercing whine, tumbling through the air with the vast majority of its energy having been expended piercing through the cannon.

The hole that had been cored through the cannon was left empty for only a moment, explosions filling it with red and orange, secondary explosions rippling through the body and causing the cannon to start falling from where it had been hung who knew how many thousands of years ago, plummeting into the canyon below and smashing against the rocks out of sight.

All the while, the rest of Crown had been engaging enemy forces that had rolled up on them. Banshees filled the air, Ghosts and even a pair of Wraiths were on the field as well. Ghosts were slapped by Gauss rounds, Banshees pulled from the air by rotary cannon fire punching holes through them, and the Wraiths were bracketed by MLRS systems, rockets swarming for the sleek looking mortar vehicles before impacting and doing heavy damage.

The tide didn't ease up, even as Mastodon started rolling forward again, the Mammoth's defenses doing more than enough to keep the enemy at bay. Not like the Covenant really had much in the way of dealing with the nearly 500 ton siege vehicle outside of actual naval assets.

They pushed through the contact at speed, Lasky keeping the interior running smoothly while Crown and the Marines that had been dispatched roamed the top decks and returned fire, plasma fire and tracer rounds crisscrossing the open air between the two forces, with missiles and accelerator rounds entering the mix as often as they could.

To the left of the Mammoth, a Phantom suddenly peeked over the edge of the canyon. One of the MLRS systems on the port side of the roof was looking towards it, but had to adjust its aim just a bit. It still took too long, and fire from the Phantom's door gunner started to rake the platform, ripping the Marine on the MLRS turret nearly in half as it quickly closed the distance and a group of Elites jumped from the interior, landing on the roof.

Morgan watched as the nearest member of Crown, August, did something that she hadn't expected the big man to do. His weapon, of little use with a shielded Elite landing in such close proximity to him, was dropped to the ground, the teal armored Spartan closing the near-arms-length in an instant.

The Elite, in the process of raising its own plasma rifle in one hand while trying to struggle back away from the Spartan, was too slow. Three globs of plasma fire splattered across August's shields, the golden lattice activating and draining quickly, on the verge of breaking. August pulled back one massive arm and turned his body at the waist, before the speed at which his coiled form whipped back around turned his upper body into what was more or less a blur, even to Morgan's enhanced eyes.

The armored gauntlet impacted against the Elite's chest plate and punched through the shields, the armor, and then bare skin underneath, penetrating enough to go most of the way through the Elite and stopping against the inside of the backplate. The plasma rifle, clad in a shaky alien grip, was ripped free by her number two, and even before his arm was pulled out of the Elite's chest, the plasma rifle was turned on another Elite that had been engaged by one of the Marines with an assault rifle. Dropping the second alien's shields, August pulled himself away from his first target and threw the plasma rifle at his second target, venting heat as his light machine gun was grabbed from the ground. By the time he was back looking down his sights, the Marine had finished the job, the two exchanging nods.

Crown and the rest of the Marines were mopping up their own fights, and one of the MLRS turrets finally managed to get on target again, sending a swarm of rockets into the interior of the Phantom and causing a series of explosions that sent the craft into a flat spin, smoke trailing from the troop bay as it dropped back off to the left, disappearing over the edge of the cliff with another distant explosion.

With the roof of the Mammoth cleared, and the rest of the combatants on the ground at range, Morgan felt herself take a breath. The fight hadn't been all that long, and the enemy ground forces were being mopped up without much in the way of resistance. If that was all they had to deal with, there wouldn't be any problems. The armor was too heavy for anything to breach the Mammoth, and very little would be able to deal with the Spartans of Fireteam Crown, the Mammoth's infantry detachment, and the Master Chief himself.

Lowering her weapon, she looked ahead, seeing a Wraith take a salvo of missiles to the face and detonate in a flash of blue, the sound reaching her a moment later. She turned to move back down into the Mammoth, the bright light from outside dimming and disappearing as she entered the dimly lit interior of the siege vehicle.

Lasky was near the handful of Marines driving the big vehicle, and he turned to look at her as she entered again. "Good job out there, Commander."

She closed the gap, her weapon moving to her back. "Distance to the second particle cannon?"

A glance at one of the stations, where the tech manning it gave his answer. "A mile and a half, around another bend in the rock, Commander."

She nodded in understanding. "We'll stay ready. I'm not sure the assault force is necessary for the time being, short of another downed bird or a blockage in the path."

The other commander seemed to agree. "We'll stay buttoned up then." Lasky moved closer to the tech that had spoken, taking an eyeful of the display. "Estimate another half hour before we have visual on the third cannon. Infinity will be staying hidden over the horizon until it's offline, then she'll lob a missile for the jamming platform."

"Got it. Call us if you need us."

"Set on speed dial, Spartan."

With that, she left Lasky behind, traversing the stairs back to the top, where her Spartans and the Marines waited, watching the skies and the path ahead for any more unwanted guests. It wasn't quiet. Weapons were still spitting payloads at enemy forces. Wayward Banshees were brought down by accurate fire, Ghosts were pulverized, Wraiths lobbed inaccurate shots that only drew more attention than they could handle.

Turning another bend, a cave yawned open in front of them, curving along the wall to the right. The techs inside would know just how far it went with the Mammoth's sensors, but the sentinels on top would be left keeping watch the duration of the journey.

Morgan looked over all of them. Castille had made her way up since Morgan had gone down, and now she was attending to the body of the Marine that had been shot off of the MLRS turret. He was dead, of course, killed before he even hit the ground, but they still had to deal with his remains. His tags were taken, ammo and weapon followed, and then he was taken downstairs by a pair of Marines, confident that a Spartan would be able to replace the two of them with ease.

Something more important was on her mind, however, and her eyes set themselves on the olive drab armor that had replaced the battered Mark VI she had seen all those years ago.

Green eyes roved over the newer GEN2 design, more angular, almost alien compared to the older model that had been replaced. Cleaner, more pristine, not bearing the scars of who knew how many battles and near misses.

Her musings didn't last long, as the golden visor that concealed the wearer inside turned on her, and she saw her reflection in it. Neither spoke for a few moments, all quiet except for the rumble of the Mammoth's engines reverberating off of the cave's interior walls and the wayward chatting of a few of the Marines.

She took the initiative, wanting to speak with him while she had the chance. They were both busy, and the situation they were in didn't leave much time to relax and talk about all the missing years between them. Her mouth opened as she heard the comm channel activate, but she didn't get anything out.

"We have asked you to give up your family, your childhood, your future."

The voice that answered wasn't John's, filled with artificial modulation and the signs of corruption, one that sent another chill up Morgan's spine. Her eyes, tuned to the subtle movements of a Spartan in armor, saw him tense up, almost stiffening as if it had startled him, and the comm channel cut immediately.

What the hell?

Her thoughts ran wild with the implication that had come from that single sentence that Cortana had spoken. His response was different. She knew about what was going on, he wasn't hiding it from her. Instead, he was trying to figure it out himself. She had no doubt that Cortana was trying to hide the full extent of it from him, to try and make it seem like she could go a little further.

Cortana had always been stubborn, a wild card even in the best of scenarios. From what little time Morgan had spent with Doctor Halsey on Reach, before the end, she had an inkling of where that side came from.

But if she was having outbursts, interjecting with things that didn't have any relevance or make sense, then it was hard to tell just how deep into the degenerative effects of rampancy she was. For all Morgan knew, they could have anywhere from a month to just an hour.

Cortana was old, by the limits of the UNSC's smart AIs, and she had spent five years in the dark, alone, doing nothing but thinking and watching over the sleeping Master Chief. It would drive even the most mentally stable Humans insane. Cortana's status as an AI did little for her, given she was created by taking a Human brain and essentially copying it over to an artificial intelligence form. It was why she was similar to Halsey in many ways.

None of that did them any favors here, and Morgan frowned. She forced the channel back open again. "Chief, what's going on in there?"

When he responded, several seconds later, there was a small amount of static in the connection, impossible given they were right next to each other. The signal shouldn't have been degraded at all, but it was, and she had some idea as to why. "Cortana's getting worse."

"I had assumed as much. There's interference on your side of the channel."

"I know."

Her frown deepened, and she moved closer. A glance over her shoulder at the rapidly approaching exit to the cave, and she looked back to the Chief. "Can you keep going with her in your armor?"

"Affirmative."

"Don't lie to me. If she starts causing issues, then I'll have to remove her chip until we can get back to Earth."

" No ."

The response was hard, and she flinched slightly. The Chief was refusing to remove her, even though she was already causing some issues with the armor, and very likely, could cause issues with him, given her interface with the armor used some of his own neural interface. "You know I wouldn't do it if there were other ways."

He was silent for a moment, and then he was cast in the bright sunlight again, glinting off of his visor. "I know."

It was going to be difficult. Not only because of their connection, but because of her own biases and Cortana's degrading personality. "When we get back to the ship…" She was slow at first, but forced some steel into her voice. "We're going to figure out how to deal with this, as soon as we get the chance."

Another pause, but no words came, only the minute nod of his helmet. He understood, and he would do as she asked, even if he hated the thought of it.

That left nothing more for them to say, and Morgan turned away, the sunlight hitting her own visor as they rolled fully around the bend. From here, she could see the area immediately ahead was blocked by a pair of waterfalls, deep enough that, even had the assault force still been on the ground, they would be forced to come back inside. Warthogs wouldn't be able to fjord that, and the force of the flowing water would be too much even if they could.

She frowned and moved to the front of the Mammoth's top deck as it rolled through the first small river that came down from above and flowed off the side and down into the canyons below. The Marines continued to chatter, some of them talking about how pretty things would look if they weren't so worried about being stuck here. The Spartans kept quiet, constantly looking around, keeping an eye out for targets. Even the Master Chief, fresh from the conversation they had just had, was back to business as usual, as if it had never happened.

Her radio crackled. "Security force, Mastodon is half a klick from target two. Sensors reading it should be just… there."

On her HUD, another icon appeared, mixing with the information her suit was already feeding her. Behind a rock pillar that climbed into the sky, and in front of another cliff face in the distance, the second particle cannon peeked out from behind where it had been covered.

She keyed the mic. "Eyes on, Mastodon. Preparing laze."

"Copy. Mini-MAC charging."

Pulling the designator from her hip, she pointed it at the particle cannon and held down the trigger until it pinged, indicating a good laze. "Laze up. Ready on you, Mastodon."

"Standby... Shot, over."

Just as it had done before, the mini-MAC cracked loudly, the shot going out and traversing to the particle cannon before any of them even registered it. Once again, it cored the particle cannon, and their second target was downed as if it had been trivial.

"Good kill, second target is down."

"Continuing forward toward next target."

"Crown copies."

She clicked off the channel and the Mammoth grumbled again, as if angry that it was being told to keep moving after it had been in motion for so long, unused to such travel with the limited use Mammoths saw.

She stood there, her visor playing across the area as her Spartans continued to roam like wolves, prowling over the upper deck. The second of three particle cannons was down, and soon they would take the third, freeing Infinity from the ties of this place. Free to hunt down the Didact and end yet another threat to Humanity.

Despite all of that, though, she worried. She hadn't expected this when she signed up again. She had expected a standard tour, dealing with pirates here and there, training some of the best Humanity had to offer to be even better. She had gotten more than she'd bargained for.

Did she regret it?

No. Of course not. She knew that if she had said no to Greer, things right now would likely be going the same, but somehow different. The Chief would have come back and had to deal with Cortana's rampancy on his own, unable to trust anybody else. If nothing else, she was thankful that she was able to try and help in some way, even if it meant she might have to lie to Del Rio and Lasky to do so.

Still, it bothered her on some level. That she had even managed to stumble upon them in the first place. What were the odds? So low as to be impossible, and then some. A glance over her shoulder at him again, for only a moment, and then she was back to watching their path.

Was it fate? Destiny? That same seeming act of God that had kept her alive through Reach and returning to Earth? Who knew. She sure as hell didn't.

Beneath her feet, the Mammoth rocked as it hit a large bump in the path, breaking her from her big vehicle rounded another bend in the path, and as it pulled around fully, it stopped, rocking back and forth on its suspension. A call from Lasky was imminent.

"Assault force, massive rockslide in the way. Mammoth won't go too much further without clearing it away, and it'll take too long. Mammoth's TACREP is saying there's a structure nearby that's feeding the particle cannons with information, through a small break in the cliff face. Estimate that's where we need to go from here. Spartans, disembark and check it out. Mastodon will remain here and try to clear some of this away."

Morgan looked around at her Spartans, all of them already moving for the stairs. "Crown Actual concurs. Moving to bottom deck and disembarking, sans Warthogs."

"Mastodon copies, good hunting."

She followed in the wake of the other heavily armed and armored Spartans, moving down into the bottom deck and through a smaller door in the sides, dropping to the dusty ground below and watching the small door seal up behind her, the last to disembark.

Her weapon was up, and she looked over their formation. The Chief was in the lead, Hammonds and Wright behind him, August in the middle, and Castille bringing up the rear with her. She closed the distance, tapping Castille on the shoulder as she passed, doing the same with each of the others until she was on the Chief's side, slightly to the rear and the right, her rifle's sights acting as another eye for her.

He led the way through the thin cracks that acted as a path through the cliff face, barely large enough to fit two of them abreast. Weapons were up, barrels acting as an extension of the monolithic squad's bodies. Every nook and shooter's crevice had eyes on within seconds of coming into view, honed eyes picking out possible sniper nests.

Crown's members had all dealt with the worst the war had to offer, knowing how the Covenant worked. They were hardened, veterans all, in their element and equipped with the best that Humanity had after coming out of that dark night that had fallen on their species. They were the shining light, the tip of the spear, and the wrath of a species given form. Tempered, but ready to be unleashed at the first sign of opposition.

Armor that weighed hundreds of pounds, weapons and ammunition, the people inside it all, and there was nothing more than the barest scrape of boots on the dusty ground below. They moved like ghosts, gliding forward in silence, held in perfect formation. Eyes were glued to crosshairs or sights, fingers resting on triggers, hearts beating at a perfectly calm 60 beats per minute.

Morgan's mind was far from those thoughts. The war was behind her, today was more important. A new threat, a return to the old life she thought she'd left, and a ghost from her past back in the flesh with a few new cracks on the surface.

The canyon widened around them, letting them step into a large open area filled with more Forerunner structures that were gleaming steel, pristine despite the dusty environment they had been built into.

Every single building was a sniper waiting to peer out at them and pull the trigger, stop their advance in little more than an instant. Her blood was hot, her instincts were energized, she was ready. So was the rest of Crown, all of them thinking the same thing:

Killing field.

And then hell broke loose. A trio of snipers, scattered around the buildings on the first or second levels, rose from behind cover just as several Forerunner knights warped into view, far closer and ready for a fight.

"Scatter!" The order was given, Morgan's voice hard as stone even while her rifle came up to meet the first knight's screaming skull. The heavy barrel of the rifle pressed against the orange terror, the trigger pulled back, the firing pin slammed forward, and the first round was sent screaming down the barrel and straight into the Knight's 'face'. Two more followed in the same fashion, and Morgan's finger timed her pulls perfectly enough that another burst was hot on the first's heels, and then a third. It was as if the weapon was on automatic. Such heavy rounds in rapid succession blew the Knight's skull apart and brought an end to one of the many fights that had broken out before it even started. The blank gaze given off by the golden visor betrayed nothing, only a reflection of another Forerunner brought down by her hands.

Crown had split like the branches of a river, all of them taking the fight to the enemy and not waiting around for a sniper to take them down. Reinforcements were on their way too, easily picked out by augmented and enhanced ears. Chittering Grunts galloped on stubby arms and legs, Elites prodded and commanded, waving their plasma repeaters and plasma rifles, and Jackal snipers growled and squawked in protest at even the thought of standing and fighting a squad of Demons.

The avian like aliens were the only ones who saw what had come running to deal with their presence. A single Demon could make short work of any of the smaller infantry or armor units in a timely manner without even seeming to take a hit. A squad of them in such a small area? There wasn't enough space for the near-mercenary aliens to properly snipe when every new attempt at peeking had lead ricocheting off of their cover at the first sign of flesh. The Elites and Grunts could be zealous in their cause, but it was nothing more than a paycheck to the birds. This was suicide.

It was obvious that staying here would be a swift death as August went head on against one of the knights. A blade on a skeletal arm was brought down in a cleaving motion, sidestepped effortlessly and broken off by the big Spartan, damn near as big as Jorge had been. It was turned on its previous owner, and with a flourish that seemed almost out of place on such a large fighter, the knight was bisected and fell to the ground.

One of the snipers saw what had happened, sheltered from view by the others, and started to raise their weapon. Just as their sights came up to their eye, they began to acquire their target, and all that was seen was the barrel of August's pistol, up and off of his hip, and pointed in their direction.

The first sniper to fall went down with a new hole in its head, and the Spartans continued to tear through the force that had ambushed them. It was just another day on the job. No panic, no requests for orders. They were each an army all on their own, all the traits of every soldier built into them by experience and training. A reinforced squad sized group of Covenant held together by zeal and little else was just a bump in the road. Even the Forerunner knights, big and advanced as they were, couldn't stop the momentum of even one of them.

Time had slowed in their minds, all of them experiencing that phenomena known as 'Spartan Time'. Two of them had lived in it almost their entire lives. The Master Chief had become more than accustomed to its slowed feel, the oldest Spartan in their group capable of gliding through time without missing a step. Morgan, far from a stranger to it, was just as quick and nimble. She had been out of the fight for too long, but the last deployment to find the Chief had shown she wouldn't be missing any steps. It all came flooding back to her further with every pull of the trigger. The rest, soldiers through and through, had been through Hells of their own without the advancements of Mjolnir and the Spartan augmentations. They'd earned their stripes, living in the mud and the blood of comrades and enemies alike. Now? They were stronger, faster, better than even any Olympian crowned in the past. They had been admitted to the mountaintop home where Gods had lived.

No Human alive would see them as anything other than Gods when the bullets started flying and the screams sounded. Every one of them would have paid an arm and a leg for a Spartan to have been on the field when things had come down to the wire for them. But that was in the past. Now they were the Spartans. They wore the name well.

The Covenant squad disappeared under their withering fire, leaving nothing but the Knights to slow the Spartans' advance. After all, what more could they do than slow them down? Nothing would stop them.

Like most of their fights, it was over quickly. Morgan finally lowered her weapon a few seconds after the echo of the last shot had dissipated into the air. Crown kept moving. The momentum had to be preserved, even if a Spartan could move from a standstill to a sprint without any issues. The basics of warfare couldn't be forgotten or disregarded just because most of them had new armor.

A Forerunner structure rose out of the ground ahead, climbing into the sky a hundred meters. Morgan keyed her mic to the squad. "Structure ahead. Think that's our secondary objective. Crown, standby just outside the facility, make sure nothing gets in and sneaks up on us. August, you know the drill."

As the Chief and Morgan moved for the door, the rest took up their positions and August gave her a thumbs up, setting up his LMG and getting ready for anything. He would keep them covered.

Next, she switched channels back to Infinity. "Infinity, Crown Actual, the Master Chief and I are going internal.

The next transmission lagged a few seconds, and she entered the structure, but nothing came through except garbled gibberish that she couldn't read. "Damn it." Squadcom opened again. "Crown, any of you register Infinity's last?
Castille answered. "Yes ma'am. Proceed inside, coordinates to follow."

A string of coordinates appeared on her HUD, and she forwarded them to the Chief as well. They carried on, deeper into the structure, and came to a locked door. She moved closer, searching for a control panel or a door lock, but nothing was there. She banged on the door, tried to pry it open, nothing. Grunting, she turned back to the Chief. "We're at a standstill now. Any ideas?"

He didn't answer, merely looked at a Sentinel that floated out of a nearby crevice in the wall and hovered its way over. It bypassed both of them, before closing on the door and sending a signal to open it.

Morgan and the Chief shared a look, and she shrugged, following the Sentinel inside as it moved through. They ran into more locked doors, branches in the path that the Sentinel left locked, leading the way through by opening specific doors. Morgan was beginning to think it was guiding them, as the coordinates were getting closer and closer until, finally, a last door opened on an elevator, where the coordinates pointed to. "Here's our spot, I guess. Ready to head up?"

The Chief's voice rumbled through his external speakers. "Could be a trap."

Morgan shrugged. "Sentinel gave me ideas and you were tight lipped. Come on, not like we have any other options."

He didn't answer this time, and they both went through the door and stepped onto the elevator. It was a quick ride up, silent, and ended somewhere near the top of the structure. They both stepped out into a long corridor with a terminal at the end, weapons raised. When nothing appeared and no threats struck out, they lowered their weapons and proceeded through, passing by multiple large structures that could have been anything.

Morgan nodded to the control panel when they closed in on it, and took up a position to watch his back. He moved forward and took Cortana's chip out, slotting it into the terminal. Morgan heard Cortana's voice a moment later. "Alright, something is going on in here… I think the cannons use these arrays for targeting information. Like old SAM networks used to rely on centralized radars. It's all automated though, so give me just a moment, and… there. Last cannon is down."

Morgan lowered her weapon, looking back to Cortana as she sent out the transmission to Infinity using the array as a signal bounce. "Cortana to Infinity, skies should be safe now." No response. "Infinity!" Another pause. "Wait… something is…" She turned quickly to the Chief. "Something's in here!"

Before John could move, even at Spartan speeds, she was gone, disappearing into the terminal. "Cortana!" The Chief reached out for her chip, grabbing it and slotting it into place again. "We need to move!"

They both started to head back the way they came at a run, before a new light bridge opened to the right. They shared another look, and Morgan knew they were both feeling the apprehension. "Cortana might be trying to guide us."

He didn't say it could be a trap this time, instead leading the way across to the door it led to, before it opened and sent them through another maze of corridors, dropping them out among a small flight of Sentinels that seemed to be waiting for them, all turning to point at a large door that opened as they moved closer. Inside, a bright blue beam stood waiting, and Cortana was inside it. She didn't move, and the Chief led the way once again. When they closed on it, she disappeared, and all of a sudden Morgan felt the pull of something too powerful to resist.

It dragged the Chief in, sweeping his feet from under him. Morgan was sent to the ground, armor scraping across the Forerunner steel deck before she was lifted into the air, and then the world went white as she screamed.

Green eyes flashed open, blinded by the sun above. A bright blue sky, far removed from the darkened ceiling of the Forerunner array complex, or the slightly greened skybox that had been what covered the canyon system they had been in last. She was on her back, lying in place in grass that rose up around her.

Morgan's first thought was to open a comm to her team, to get their status, and with GEN 2, it was easy enough. Simply think about it and it would happen. It was second nature now. "Crown, respond." Nothing. "Sierra-117?" Still nothing. She grimaced.

Standing up, she remembered the dream she'd had when she'd nearly been killed during the last few hours of the war. Noble had come to her, ghosts in a mind on the brink of shutting down. Nothing had happened this time to cause a return there, to that village where Noble had settled down to live their lives, figments of her imagination though they were.

But something else about this place was familiar. The grass was halfway up her shins, gently swaying back and forth in a breeze that she couldn't feel on her skin. A frown, and she closed her eyes in what felt like disappointment. The ship's recycled air and being locked into her armor any time she left, she was missing the feel of the wind blowing against her face. An oddity for a Spartan of her generation.

A sigh, and she looked around. Trees lined the side of an open field, boxing it in. They, too, shared the movements of the grass, though more reserved. Three sides, those trees blocked the rest of the world, and she felt more of that faint remembrance seeping into her mind. An old memory, faded as to be something that she thought she'd never truly experienced, that it was just a dream she may have had.

Too much had happened in her life to remember something that hadn't taken place in the last five years. Flickers of war and death pushed deep down inside, her mind's attempt at dealing with trauma that she never really noticed in the first place. Training on Onyx, crushing and yet defining at the same time, some of the few happy moments that had come before the long dark night that the war had been. Finally, the years she'd spent as a civilian. The sun had come out, and stayed out.

So, that meant this was all that was left of her life as a child. A faded memory of the days spent in and around Sapphire Point, a mid-sized city that had been the initial point for colonization. The planet's name was long gone to her, and she didn't care to remember it. Days spent in the city with her mother, a woman whose face was little more than a silhouette to her. All she could bring to mind was the sharp nose, the slender chin, the short, messy hair. It was a face that was covered in the shadow of time.

There was a pang of hurt, when she actually thought about it, and the big woman closed her eyes in an attempt to think harder on it, to force the memory into being, but it never came, and her mother was lost to her again. Opening her eyes again, she turned her back on the field, and she was given over to the view of Sapphire Point, before it had been turned into a graveyard, nothing but glass and bones. Skyscrapers rising into the sky, buildings getting shorter as they fanned out into the city proper, homes and suburbs, perfectly made by colony planners that were building a world's capital.

Her shoulders slumped, and she could feel a yearning for a past that had been wiped away. Fate had seen otherwise for her. She would never have that chance again, to simply be a child.

But instinct would determine things just as much, and her longing was cut short as she sensed a presence. Turning on it in a whirlwind, she was already bringing her fists up in a fighting stance, coiled and ready to pounce on whatever it was that had invaded her mind.

A hairless woman, with wideset eyes and a pair of slits for a nose. Her clothing was unlike anything she'd seen before, and the woman wore an odd headress. Eyes that were black with blue sclera stared back at her. She was unarmed.

That didn't stop Morgan from holding her stance. The woman had a view of possible hurt, but it could have been anything. Morgan wasn't the best judge of expression, after all.

She wasted no time in speaking, though, and Morgan's ears caught her voice. "You've arrived in a place that was never meant to see you, a world where your story ended long ago."

Morgan frowned, narrowing her eyes. "You know it's rude to start speaking in riddles before you've said hello?"

The joke fell flat, and the woman didn't react to it. "There is no need for greeting. You are an anomaly. There were many things that I planned, a thousand lifetimes in the past, but your part to play is no longer in sync."

"Explain." Morgan wasn't about to play 20 questions with a stranger, but she slowly relaxed her pose.

A moment of pause. "I am the remains of the memories of the Forerunner known as The Librarian, or First-Light-Weaves-Living-Song. These memories were intended to assist Humanity on their journey to assuming the Mantle of Responsibility, once held by the Forerunners. But that journey is imperiled, and so is the plan that was set in place by my maker." The Librarian gestured to Morgan. "You were one of those that were accounted for, and you were to play a great part in the plan that was made, the eventualities that it would create. You succeeded in carrying out your part of the plan, but you were meant to have fallen when it was complete."

Morgan felt ice in her veins. Fallen? Did that mean…? Her mouth dried out, and she spoke up despite it. "What was my part to play?"

"Your part, child, was to deliver The Ancilla to The Champion. Fate decided your beginning, but not your end. Now? You stand here before me, much as The Champion does. You were not expected to survive, and so your evolution was not factored into play. You are not safe here."

"Hold on a minute, my evolution? What?"

The Librarian's head twitched, and she glanced off enough to stare into the trees behind Morgan. A series of bells started to ring, those same bells that had haunted Morgan when the trauma had become too much. It was a memory, surfacing from her past. The bells had been here, at Sapphire Point. But the memory was pushed aside as The Librarian went on. "He has found us. There is no time to explain to you, but you must not follow The Champion when he makes his choice. You must protect him, for if you do not, then all is lost."

Before Morgan could go on, the sky flashed, and when things had come back to her, she was flat on her back again. The Master Chief was with her, but he was held suspended in the air, a lattice much like their shields surrounding him, spread out as if he was being held in a massive hand that was squeezing.

But there was no time to react, as he slowly dropped into a kneeling position, standing a moment later as if nothing had happened. Another voice entered her mind though, just as Cortana appeared on a nearby pedestal. "Are you two alright?" She asked, looking them both over with a look of worry. "Both of you just… your vitals were all over the place. Morgan was about to go cardiac, and the Chief… pinged KIA."

Morgan frowned at that. That was never good. "What happened? To both of you?"

John answered first. "Long story, but I know what the Didact is after."

Cortana seemed impatient, worried, as the Chief went for the pedestal and pulled her out of the system. Her voice filtered in through comms now. "I know, The Librarian filled me in on it as well when I got pulled through the system, but she didn't say what she did to you or Morgan."

That got Morgan's attention. "Then we all saw her?"

John looked back at her, giving her a nod. "It seems so. We'll debrief later, but we need to get out of here, now. The Didact knows we're here. Cortana, guide us out."

A route appeared on Morgan's HUD, and the two Spartans made tracks. It didn't take long, but they got a new route out through a portal, separating them from Crown. Almost as soon as they stepped back out into the sunlight, Morgan's comms pinged. It was August.

"Commander, what happened in there? Your vitals are all out of wack and you dropped off the scans for a bit entirely."

"Long story, Two. We're split up. Head back to the Mammoth and embark with them. The Chief and I will carry on from here."

"Negative, Actual. We got retasked when the cannons went down, saddled up with an armored force that managed to punch through. Got a platoon of heavy armor and a couple of Hogs. You're not much more than a detour. We'll come grab you."

"Roger."

She switched gears, pointing to the Chief. "You're lead for the moment. I'll follow you forward."

He nodded, setting off towards the allied units that they could see on their HUD. She called for Infinity next. "Infinity, Crown Actual. What's your status?"

Del Rio's voice came in clear this time. "We're in deep, taking a heavy damn beating."

Morgan frowned. If the ship was engaged, they were running out of time. "Does Infinity have a shot on the gravity well?"

"Negative, too much air traffic, we'll never be able to get a target lock with things crossing in front of it every other second.

She cursed under her breath, but then remembered the targeting indicator on her hip, and an idea dawned on her. "...Are the missiles in question capable of locking on to the target designator?

A moment passed, and Del Rio came back. "Weapons says yes. Keying the missile for your laser code now. Coordinates for somewhere with line of sight to follow. When they come in, get there, and get ready. Out."

Morgan didn't bother to reply, as two Hogs rolled up with space for each of them. They got into place and August threw the first one into gear, Hammonds following quick behind as she relayed the plan over squadcomm. "Coordinates incoming. We've gotta get to them and get the target designator into play. Everything else is secondary. Once we knock that out, we can get the hell out of here."

Right as she finished, the coordinates came in, attached to a message that she put in to her navigation system and sent out to the rest of Crown. "Alright there it is. Get there and let's finish this."

She didn't have to repeat herself as the Hogs adjusted their heading and they moved back out onto the main route that had been followed. The Scorpions were laying out whatever they had, main cannons and machine gun fire alternating as needed. Not much could deal with a platoon of the UNSC's heavy armor.

It was a blood bath for the opposing side. Covenant troopers were laid low by accurate fire, one of the armor commanders giving orders for the lot of them, barking over the comm like a seasoned NCO. No officer talked like that. At least, not one worth his salt. Forerunner constructs joined the fight as well, Knights being blown apart as if they were little more than a side piece. At one point, one of those big Knights, the ones that Intel had dubbed the Leviathans, made an appearance. It fired one of the big guns that had taken the place of a forearm and it hit one of the tanks dead on.

Immediately, the turret was blown off and fire spewed out of where it had been attached in a hot geyser, more flames pouring out of the engine bay and the driver's hatch. The NCO was quick to give the order to focus fire, and one of the tanks fired without even slowing down. The round went straight through the center of the Leviathan, splitting it in half before it gave off an explosion that left little behind but bits and pieces, the NCO praising whoever had pulled the trigger immediately after.

"Good guns, Juicy. Keep up the advance. We'll try and get our boy out after this, but ain't much left behind when you get ammo racked."

The Scorpions led the way, the Hogs using them as cover, and finally, they came to the top of the hill that would lead to their objective. Morgan was out and moving the moment the Hog stopped, already calling in to the Infinity.

Dropping to a kneel, she held out the target designator, keeping it as steady as she could and pointing it at the gravity well generator. "Infinity, designator is online, targeting information correct. Fire for effect."

"Copy all, Crown. Targeting information received. Shot out."

There wasn't much to do now except wait. Things had quieted down. The Scorpions had turned to watch down the hill, their engines purring and their turrets whining with each minor turn. The fire from the tank that had been destroyed was still crackling, and ammo was cooking off in the hull still. The rest of the Spartans stood ready, and Morgan was completely still, waiting for the shot to come in.

Time passed slowly for them, nearly a full minute going by before, suddenly, a black rod streaked in on a plume of flame, impacting the gravity well generator just as the sonic boom rolled over them. The explosion from hitting it was massive, only increasing as the secondary explosion of the generator itself blew, sending out a heavy overpressure wave that could stagger even a Spartan.

It kept going, and after another dozen secondaries, it seemed to cool off, and the generator went offline. Infinity was quick to confirm.

"Infinity to ground teams, good work. Gravity well generator is offline. Standby for pickup. Infinity out."

Sliding the designator back to her hip, Morgan gave a slow sigh, basking in the light from the gravity well generator's roaring fires. She looked back over her shoulder at the Chief, and though he wasn't looking at her now, he caught her staring and looked back for a moment. She was going to hound him for details when they got back. They both knew it. It was her job, after all.

But as soon as it started, the shared look was over, and the rest of the time passed slowly. Crown spoke among themselves on closed comms, and the Marines that had been their armored support unbuttoned their tanks and got some natural air before they started to talk on their own as well. Several of them started making their way back down the hill to the remains of the tank that had been destroyed. Without thinking much, Morgan sent Castille with them. She knew what they were going after.

Most of the ammo had cooked off by now, and the flames had died down a lot. The Marines stood and watched as Castille stuck her arm into the tank and took the tags from the deceased. They all made it a point to at least grab one of the panels that had been blown off and cover the hatch, thanking the Spartan for her help and taking a moment before returning to their own tanks.

Eventually, the sound of Pelicans came in, enough to carry all of the tanks and the two Hogs back, but one of them would be riding without cargo, given the destruction of one of the tanks. Stepping aboard the empty one, Morgan slid down into one of the seats closest to the door, relaxing a little bit. Hocus wasn't flying any of these birds. Given she had been on rotation in her bird when Morgan had left, her wife was probably asleep by now.

It wasn't new to her, going to sleep at odd times with Amber arriving later or earlier. It was easy to plan her sleep schedule around the other woman's when they were civilians. Spartans didn't require too much sleep, and she'd grown accustomed long ago to four hours being the standard, or sometimes the best she'd get.

Still, she was allowed to complain, wasn't she? She'd earned that much. Granted, she wouldn't say it in front of the others, but she could grumble all she wanted in the privacy of her mind.

The Pelicans loaded up quickly and mag clamped the vehicles before lifting off and setting off back toward Infinity. Be an hour or so trip with cargo underslung. The Mammoth, on the other hand, would have to wait for a time. Several of Infinity's super-heavy lift aircraft would be coming in to pick it up and carry it into the ship when it got closer.

She didn't envy those pilots.

The Mammoth disappeared soon after that thought, though, as the bay door closed and sealed the Spartans of Fireteam Crown inside, secure for the flight back.

Touchdown on Infinity led to Crown dispersing, returning to armories to ensure their armor and weapons were ready for another deployment immediately after. Rest came when that job was done. With what Morgan knew of the Didact from her conversation with the Chief on the way back, they had to be ready to move at a moment's notice. She'd already spoken to the Air Boss to keep a second Pelican, and not a transport variant but a gunship variant, sitting alert with the standard rotation. If Crown needed to light out, they'd be able to do it at a moment's notice.

But now, that was in the back of her mind. She stood with the Chief, Del Rio, and Lasky, who had returned on an additional Pelican shortly after Crown had touched down. Palmer was in the corner. Bridge guards had been one thing, but since the bridge incursion, an armed Spartan was always on the bridge proper just in case.

Del Rio went on from what he had been saying, gaze on passing between the lot of them. "Infinity has finished all repairs from when we were dragged onto the ground. We're airtight, and scans from Monsoon have indicated an exit has just opened up to the outside. First order of business is to get the hell out of this place and return to Earth, leave a beacon behind to be found by more dedicated forces."

The Chief spoke up at that. "Sir, what about the Didact?"

Del Rio focused his gaze on the Chief this time. "The Didact remains a secondary concern. As far as our intel indicates, he's a single person without a true vessel. That does not indicate a threat worth sending this entire ship out. If he's as powerful as you say, then we are in his sphere of influence here and are at risk. Should we manage to leave this place, that risk drops significantly."

The Chief went on, more incessant this time. "Captain, I've seen what the Didact is capable of. If he manages to leave this world, then not only Earth, but Humanity is at risk."

The Captain paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. When he spoke again, his voice was low, slightly warning. The Chief could be seen as being insubordinate at this point. "And your proof of this?"

"I encountered a Forerunner AI of some sort in the array tower, a memory bank designed to guide us. She showed me the Didact's past, why he was locked away."

"A Forerunner AI that may very well be rampant, corrupted, or even a trick by the Didact."

"No, it didn't seem like a trap."

Del Rio frowned, the lines in his face deepening. "And you're basing this off of… what? Instinct?"

Morgan stepped in this time. "No, sir. I saw her too. She… knew things. Knew things about me that she shouldn't have known. Even if the Chief were compromised or tricked in some way, there's no way the Didact could have known about me the way she did."

Del Rio turned his eyes on her this time, almost incredulous as the Chief cut in again. "Sir, I know how this sounds, but I have to ask that you trust me."

The older officer's gaze was back on the Chief, anger seeping into his voice. Not only was one Spartan insubordinate, but two, one being his Spartan Commander. "You're asking that I trust you, an aging Spartan, and a malfunctioning AI? One that you deliberately hid from me? There is no trust to be had, Master Chief."

Cortana appeared on the holotable, looking sheepish, fearful even. "I…"

Del Rio gestured to her. "You think I didn't know? Monsoon has kept tabs on her since the moment she entered the system. Records indicate she was supposed to have been decommissioned this year. She's reached the end of her lifespan. Furthermore, all the telltale signs of rampancy are there. I didn't think that it needed to be said that I won't jeopardize the Infinity for hallucinations and malfunctions, but it seems that I have to. Denied, Master Chief." He turned slightly, looking to the nav officer. "Nav, as soon as all hands are aboard and secured, lay in a course for Carinae Station. Comms, prepare a warning beacon, repeating. Make sure nobody else ends up like we did."

In the background, Cortana flickered red, and the area started to glow blue as several displays were brightened to maximum levels. Electricity started to arc over consoles on the holotable, spreading out to the rest of the bridge. "I… will not… allow you to leave. This. Planet!" More electricity shot out, a power surge going through the bridge that charged the room enough for Morgan and the Chief to be covered in the faintest gold lattice. Their shields had been activated. Others were coated in static electricity, and a few of the female crew members with longer hair were witnessing their perfect buns be filled with flyaways and floating strands of hair.

All eyes were on Cortana as she changed completely to red, and after the discharge, she returned to blue, as if she had no idea what had happened, before she started to apologize, to plead with them, even to beg. Del Rio's face went from surprised right back to angry. "Commander Lasky, pursuant to Article 55 of UNSC Regulation 12-145-72, I am ordering you to remove that AI's data chip and retire it for final dispensation."

Morgan's blood froze up at that, and she knew she had to do something. Del Rio wasn't going to be swayed, especially not now, and nothing else could be done. It was all or nothing. Osman's words rang in her ear again, and she intercepted Lasky, who was seemingly stuck between following orders and the off chance that the Chief could be right.

She moved between the Chief and Lasky, her hand going to Cortana's data chip and pulling it out gently, the AI disappearing from the holotable as Morgan's golden visor turned on Del Rio. "Cortana will be dealt with at a later date. If the Didact isn't dealt with, then we are at risk. Infinity is a secondary concern against the risk of Humanity should the Didact escape and regain whatever it is he's trying to find."

Anger went to rage, and Del Rio rounded the table on her. "Commander, your insubordination has gone too far, and you presume too much, attempting to tell me what I can and can't do with my ship."

Morgan was unfazed, merely holding the datachip out to the Master Chief, who took it and slid it into his helmet. "This is no longer your ship, Captain."

His eyes widened, and he realized that he had not one, but two possible Spartans on his bridge that were far out of line, one attempting to go AWOL, the other in an outright mutiny. He glanced over his shoulder at Palmer, backing away from Morgan, and jabbed his finger at her. "Spartan Palmer, arrest her!" Palmer hesitated, looking back and forth between the two. "Arrest her!"

Turning her gaze to the Chief, she gave him his orders. "Master Chief, the gunship sitting alert is yours. Pack it full of the ammo and supplies you'll need. You know you're the only person who can stop him." He met her gaze, and nobody else seemed to move, despite Del Rio seething. "I can't go with you this time, John."

He shared her gaze for a few moments, as if searching for something, before he must have given up and realized it would take more time than he had. "Yes, ma'am."

With that, he turned and went to leave the bridge, but stopped when Del Rio shouted again. "Stop!" John turned to look over his shoulder at Del Rio, not even turning his body, only to see that Del Rio had pulled his sidearm. The magnum looked too large in his hand, and it was shaking slightly. Morgan moved around the table, until she was standing in front of the barrel.

"Master Chief, you're dismissed." It was all she needed to say, and a moment later the door opened and closed again. "Captain Del Rio, short sighted fixation on maintaining Infinity in the face of a possible extinction level threat to Humanity and your attempt at preventing direct action of any sort is in direct violation of ONI Directive 2554-61-B. You are hereby relieved of command of UNSC Infinity and confined to quarters until return to Earth and debrief by Office of Naval Intelligence personnel. Your sidearm, please."

Del Rio's jaw dropped open, and his pistol shook a bit harder. "How dare you-"

Morgan's hand went to the barrel, grabbing it and squeezing. The barrel and the steel frame simply crumpled under her grip, and the weapon became useless in a single swoop. Del Rio released it, almost instinctively, and she held it tightly, before giving another order. "Monsoon, open my personal inbox, most recent communication originating from outside of the ship."

Monsoon's voice answered. "Yes, ma'am. Opening communication now. There is an additional message located inside of the transmission code. Should I open it as well?"

"Open that message in particular."

"Yes, ma'am."

The holotable activated again, displaying the message that had come from the ONI Commander in Chief, Serin Osman. In the message, she was sitting just as she had when Morgan had first opened it, that same unnerving grin on her face. Del Rio's face went white.

"Welcome back, Commander." Her smile grew slightly, and she seemed to wait a moment, as if expecting a response, but it was moot. It was only a recording, after all. "I'm pleased to see that Greer was able to drag you back to the fold. It may seem a little… cold, to do this to you this way, but I like to get my hands dirty from time to time. Surely you understand, hm?"

Morgan frowned behind her helmet as the Admiral went on, knowing that Osman had been put in place for a reason, and it wasn't because she was polite to everybody she met.

"Now, Admiral Greer came to you with the proposition that you take over as Spartan Commander. You know this much. You have the credentials, the prestige, the skill, you're perfect for the job." Her smile dissipated now. "More importantly, you're the only Spartan that fits that role while also having been one of us. Ackerson didn't skimp on the jobs he gave you, and he kept… very meticulous records." Another glint of a smile from the top grinning skull in the UNSC. "The Navy was keen on picking a Captain for Infinity that would prioritize its safety above all else. ONI was… not so keen on that, given they may turn tail too early in certain engagements. We were able to get some concessions with Commander Lasky, of course, but that's not exactly what I'd call an ace in the hole."

Osman sat back in her chair, and it seemed like the entire bridge had frozen in place as the message played out. She relaxed for a moment, but that smile never completely left her face. It was mostly just the corners of her lips being upturned now. Morgan had no doubt the woman slept with a gun under her pillow. "So… from this point forward, you've been not only reinstated into the Navy, and the Spartan Branch appended additionally, but you're hereby asked to remain as an ONI liaison. Of course, this is all just a request from some old friends." Another momentary grin. "I know you've made plenty in your time as a civilian. Surely you won't mind helping some others out, hm? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Sounds fair, right?"

The grin dropped again, and Osman sat forward, steepling her fingers on her desk. "Should you accept, I ask only that you act in the best interests of Humanity and the UNSC Infinity in tandem. As a woman who's done what she has, I know you'll make the right choice. I look forward to hearing your response as soon as possible."

The message came to a close. Morgan had never gotten the chance to really think about it and send her response. There had been so much double talk and veiled statements in the message that it wasn't like she could just accept right away and call it a day. You didn't want to be associated with ONI unless you knew what you were getting into. That or you were a child super soldier. But she had initially thought on it for a time and never really gotten an answer.

Now? It was proving to be an unexpected blessing. "As I said before, Captain. You are relieved of command and confined to quarters. My authority supersedes yours in an event such as this." Looking to Palmer, all the fight seemed to fade out of Del Rio. "Spartan Palmer, please escort the Captain to his quarters and remain there until relieved by another guard. Post under strength squads to him for the time being in rotating schedules, one hour on, two off. Rotate squads every cycle. Remind them to be vigilant."

Palmer was hesitant, given how everything had just been shaken up so badly, but she followed her orders. "Yes, ma'am."

Palmer escorted Del Rio off the bridge without much fuss after that, the Captain realizing that his goose was cooked. Nobody went up against CINCONI and her wishes except Lord Hood himself, and even then it barely mattered. ONI got what it wanted. Parangosky had trained Osman well.

When the door sealed behind them, she looked to Lasky. "You're in command of Infinity now. I know you'll do the job well, despite what just happened. Can I trust you?"

Lasky hesitated again, likely fearing that he would be given the same treatment. Eventually, he nodded and repeated what Palmer had said. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Maintain current position, keep the ship in place. I'll ensure the Master Chief departs safely and then…" She frowned behind her helmet, realizing that she was not only going to be leaving him and Cortana behind again, but she would be actively sending them out. She would give them as much as she could. "Then we'll leave this place, head back to Earth, and hope to God that he can get the job done and we see him again."

With that, she turned from Lasky and headed for the exit to the bridge, the doors opening and sealing behind her, all eyes of the bridge crew watching her retreating back.

Chapter Text

"It's time to be immortal, 'cause heroes never die"

- Megadeth, Blood of Heroes

There were so many places to go. She could go back to S Deck, to hide in her office. She could go to her quarters, go to one of the many gyms, go to seek out Hocus. But there was something wrong with every option that came to mind that she knew would be unforgivable. She doubted John or Cortana would think twice, but she would, and she would carry the thought to her grave.

She would be hiding.

Hiding from the fact that she was sending the two of them off to, at worst, their deaths, to another isolation that she feared they wouldn't survive. Would she find them again?

Could you sacrifice me to complete your mission? Could you watch me die?

Those words echoed in her mind, and she squinted her eyes closed as she halted in an empty corridor, dropping into the closest room. It was empty, thankfully. There was a pressure building in her, one that felt like she was suffocating. Her helmet came off, hooked to her hip, and she squeezed down the sensation that reminded her of vomit. There was no salivating in preparation, no nausea, nothing that told her it was really coming. It was claustrophobia, but for once, her armor wasn't protecting her like it had done so many times.

In her mind, she knew she didn't have much time. There wasn't any to waste. They would be leaving soon, and Infinity would be leaving immediately after. She would lose her chance. There had been such fire in her, mixed with that cold steel she had perfected. But now it was all gone, and she wondered why she was feeling this way.

What was it? She had seen Kat get snuffed right in front of her, Emile go down fighting, Jorge disappearing with the biggest fucking bomb either of them had seen, and Carter channeling his inner divine wind. She'd nearly held Johnson when he'd breathed his last. There'd been a breakdown when she realized just how close they'd gotten only for the Chief and Cortana to be left behind.

Had something changed? Was it that she was sending them out herself this time and staying behind? Was it the unspoken possibility that this might be the last time they'd speak?

No. She knew what it was. It was that she'd changed over the years. She knew the reasoning, her Spartan brain told her that it was logical, rational, reminded her of all the times she'd been told there was the difference between spending a life and wasting it, of all the times she'd had to remind herself.

Now? She wasn't spending a life or wasting one. She was leaving a friend. She was leaving two of them. One was on the edge of shattering, of coming apart at the seams, and the other one must have been so damn tired, but he kept going because he had to. Because he was the only one who could. They'd brought down the Ark and the Covenant together. But now she had to stay behind. She couldn't cover his back.

He was getting old. Hell, she was only 27 and she could feel it on the worst nights. She'd push through it every time it came on. But him? He'd been at this longer than she'd been alive. There was no low tempo for him. She had no idea just how strong he was, but he had his breaking point. They all did. Would he meet his on this mission?

She didn't know. All she knew was that she couldn't let them go without speaking to them one more time. Not just for her, but for him, too.

Pushing down the feeling that had nearly upended her gut, she put her helmet back on and strode from the room, long strides carrying her to where she knew they'd gone, one of the smaller hangar bays that serviced individual ships over the cavernous bays that took up several decks on their own.

The Pelican Gunship sat waiting, deck crew loading up ammo and arms, fueling the bird until she was full, and ensuring all systems were working perfectly. The Master Chief, however, stood apart. His back was to her, and he was staring through the open bay, protected only by the thin shield that maintained the bay's atmosphere. Cortana was atop the small AI pedestal next to him. Her own back was to the bay. Morgan's eyes watched as she turned, her lips moving. Concern played across blue features.

Then it was gone as she saw Morgan approaching, and the conversation stopped with the Master Chief turning to look at her.

Swallowing, Morgan stepped up next to him. "I wish I could go with you."

John merely watched her through his visor as she looked out over the interior of the world, eyes taking in the dozens of floating structures, the sea of clouds, the late afternoon shade the sun was casting across the place. In a way, that shade of light reminded her of home. She hated that it did.

A few more moments of taking in the sight, and she looked back to him, gold visor meeting gold visor. "I trust you, completely. I know you're the only person that can do this. That's not an exaggeration. I could send the ship's entire compliment of Spartans with you, and something tells me you'd be the only one to come through the smoke on the other side." A momentary pause, and she licked her lips. "But that doesn't make it any easier to do this."

"I never took you for the sentimental type, Commander." His tone was deep, and she wondered when she'd hear it again after this. It took a moment for her to realize he was attempting to make a joke, to put that dry wit of his to use. Maybe an attempt at comforting her. A frown turned into a chuckle.

"Yeah, neither did I. I guess being out of it did a number on me, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far."

Her smile, faint but still there, stuck this time. It still hurt like hell to do it, but she was right. He was the only one who could do it. She had to believe. "Maybe after this is all done, we'll see how you do trying to wrangle a microwave."

That got a chuckle out of him, and it surprised her. It was like his voice, low and gravely, but something about it was comforting on its own. If he could laugh at a time like this, maybe she could unwind a little bit. "I think I'd like that."

"I think I would too. Someone taught me eventually, but I think I'd wanna see how you do on your own for a time."

"Awfully sadistic of you. I thought you had my back?" He looked down at her, and though she couldn't physically see it, she knew the smile was there.

"Anywhere but there, Chief. I'd follow you through Hell and out the other side, but kitchen appliances can get hotter than the seventh circle if you're not careful."

Another laugh shared between the two, and Morgan cut her eyes at Cortana just in time to see the AI smiling softly. She was about to say something else, but several lights came on in the bay, red lights indicating a launch was imminent as one of the loudspeakers transmitted.

"Prepare launch tube 3-A, magnetic array catapult standing by, calibrated for Gunship level launch. All relevant crew standby for sortie."

Their banter was cut short, and a pair of yellow vested deck crew stood on either side of the Pelican's rear bay. Morgan and John shared one last look, and he took Cortana's chip from the pedestal. She disappeared back into it, and it disappeared back into his helmet. Morgan could only walk him to the ramp, and the two crewmen gave him a salute. One spoke up.

"She's as good as we can get her, sir. Call came down from the bridge and we triple checked, loaded as much ammo in as would fit. Not a better bird in the fleet, far as I know."

The Chief returned the salute and nodded. "Thank you."

Morgan spoke up before either of them could say more. "A moment, please."

The two nodded and immediately stepped away. Word traveled fast, even on a ship this big. They knew what had happened, even if only bits and pieces.

He stepped onto the ramp and turned back to look at her. She moved to the side, where an external release waited for her. "Promise me you'll come back safe?"

He seemed to hesitate, but after a moment, he nodded again. Not just a shallow nod, an agreement, but a deeper one. One that was deliberate. "I promise."

"I'll hold you to it, then." Reaching out, she slapped the bay controls, and the ramp slowly started to come up. They stared each other down as it went up, almost agonizingly slowly, and then they were cut off. Their gaze held until the bay hissed and sealed, and he turned to go to the cockpit.

She stepped back, off of the pad it had rested on, and it sunk into the floor with the wailing of klaxons and crew members giving it a wide birth. She didn't back up any further, standing on the edge and looking down until the Pelican was shuttled forward and into the launch tube, the pad starting to rise and shutting it off.

"Tube 3-A, launch imminent. Standby."

The Pelican went through final checks in the bay, and almost as if she was afraid to say it, she opened a comms channel with him. It lit up with a green status light. The connection was perfect. No distortion, no loss of quality, crystal clear.

Morgan worried these might be her last words to her friend. "Be seeing you, John."

There was no response, and almost as if to put a period on her sentence, the deck rumbled as the Pelican was launched out and into the sky.

And she was left alone.

She frowned behind the visor that hid her emotions from the world, and part of her said to stay here, and that the Pelican might come back up if you wait long enough. They'll have finished the mission and they'll come home with us. But she knew it was a waste of time. There were still things that needed to be done, not just by the rest of Infinity, but her as well.

Clearing her throat, she opened a comm channel to the bridge, heading for the door that led back into the corridors of the ship. "Bridge, Crown Actual. The Master Chief is away. Proceed on exit course."

After a moment, Lasky responded to her. "Ship is in motion. Estimate 15 minutes on this track and we'll be out, assuming nothing tries to stop us."

"Good. Anything else pressing?"

"No, ma'am."

Her frown deepened slightly. "This is your ship, Tom. You know there's no need to call me ma'am."

His response was delayed, and it sounded quieter when he came back. "You have command authority with that message that Osman sent you."

"And I gave command of the ship to you. You're the XO, and with Del Rio gone, you're now the Captain. Isn't that how a chain of command works?

"Yes, but-"

"No buts. You're in command, end of story." She frowned a little harder, skirting past a group of mechanics as she made her way to the elevators. "I have my own things to run, and your job has changed very little. As far as we are both concerned, you're wearing the bird on your collar, not me. Am I clear?"

"Crystal."

Her tone softened slightly, and she tried to push some of her irritation away at having had to all but tell him that the ONI message no longer mattered now that her ace had been played. "Look, this doesn't change the dynamic. It doesn't change anything except that one person on the whole ship is no longer doing their job. You're command, I'll keep the Spartans in line, we'll finish this trip and see where things go from there."

This time, his response had returned to its natural level. "Got it. I'll ring if anything changes."

"Good. Out." With that, she cut the comms channel and stepped into one of the elevators, pressing the button for S Deck. It would be a short ride from here to there, and then a short tram ride to the central Spartan command location.

When she stepped back out into that long hallway full of Spartans, she drew several gazes, and again, her lips cut into a frown. Word indeed traveled fast, but there was no need to engage in anything that may or may not simply be rumor mill. Part of her hoped that her Spartans wouldn't either, but there was bound to be at least one gossip among the Olympians.

The command area was her next stop, and she went straight for her office, the door shutting behind her with a hiss and sealing her even further away from the rest of them. Her chair was her first companion, but her armor took away any of the softness. Unsealing her helmet, she set it on the desk, before something made her turn it around to face her.

It wasn't exactly like looking into a mirror, seeing herself in that golden reflection. Her natural color had been tinted heavily by it, and some of her image distorted as it passed over certain sections of the visor. She ran her thumb across it, slowly, as she had done all those years ago when it had been caked in dirt and grime, gore and ichor. A sigh escaped her as her frown deepened further. She still wore Mark VI, just as she had since she'd gone back to Earth.

The Chief wore Mark VI – or he had. Gen 2 wasn't the same, for plenty of reasons. She probably should have changed to the newer armor herself, but there was some sentimental value, wearing the same gear that she had brought down the Covenant and the Flood with.

With a start, she realized that sentimental value was something the Chief hadn't let himself be governed by. He'd discarded his old armor not because it was ruined, but because Gen 2 was likely just better. More advanced, newer. That likely meant better. Was it better? She had no idea. Reports had said that Gen 2 was limited in ways that would outright limit Spartan II personnel negatively compared to Gen 1, but there wasn't a large enough sample size to go off of, with most of them dead or gone after the war. Some had trickled back in the years since, but still, not exactly enough for proper testing.

Her hand fell away from the visor, and she sat back in her chair, letting the strength flow from her form as she looked back into that visor that mirrored her. She sat there for what seemed like hours, but was nowhere near even one. Maybe half an hour. She knew she heard Monsoon say that they had completed the transit through the roof, and the subsequent rumbling of the ship as it went to slipspace, but she said nothing.

There was no way she was turning the ship around now, no way of getting to them. Her hands were tied. All that was left now was to go back to Earth and hope that no massive ship showed up with an angry Didact at the helm, ready to wipe out all of the Humans there. Something told her, deep inside, that not even Infinity would be able to stand up against an ancient Forerunner warship.

But at this point, who knew? If something like that did show up, then it would mean that the Chief and Cortana had failed, in some way or another. She had to hope that they would succeed. They had to.

Another undetermined amount of time passed, and her door hissed open. There was no knock, no warning, nothing. No Spartan would have just barged in. Not even August. Instead of one of the hulking super soldiers in their power armor, a smaller woman clad in flight gear walked in, her boots loud against the deck.

"A little birdie told me that you were holed up in here." Amber Bailey looked back at her, green eyes meeting brown, and she waited for the door to hiss shut before she went on. "Give ya one guess as to who."

Morgan didn't smile, instead her frown deepening. "August?"

"Helen." Moving closer, the woman dropped into one of the two chairs on the other side of her desk, kicking her boots up and into the other chair before crossing her arms over her waist. "What's got you so sour?"

She got a deadpan tone in response. "Give ya one guess."

Amber frowned, her smooth features marred by stress lines that came into play when she let herself frown. "You've got a wider field to guess from, love. Rumor mill is already spinning at full speed. Every water cooler and scuttlebutt on the ship is whispering about it."

The bigger woman rolled her eyes, sighing as she leaned against her desk with both arms crossed on it, wanting to put her head down and close her eyes. Maybe it would all disappear?

Amber's frown deepened, and she stood up. Morgan heard the rustling of fabric, of two boots dropping to the floor loudly, and the steps as she came around the desk. A hand on her chest pushing against her would do nothing, but Morgan let herself be pushed back into a seated position.

The hand moved up to her chin, and Morgan was staring into her wife's eyes, the other woman not looking pleased by any means, but Amber had never been the strict, scolding type. She deftly slid into Morgan's lap, sitting with her legs to one side, and her arms came to wrap around the Spartan's neck before their foreheads met. Amber's eyes closed, and Morgan let her own follow. All they needed was the other's voice.

"Something's making you blame yourself again, isn't it?"

It was worded like a question, but the words were more a statement. Amber knew her wife well. This wasn't the first time it had happened. Morgan had a tendency to not just curl up on herself, but find ways to hide within her own form.

It took time, but Morgan hummed an affirmative, the deep sound rolling between them through their physical connection.

"And you're in here moping, like you used to?" Another hum. In the beginning, their home had many empty rooms. Sometimes, during her visits, Hocus had found the Spartan in a completely empty room, the lights on, laying in the floor with her eyes open. Many nights of coaxing her to bed had slowly pushed some of this away. It didn't happen anymore, but Amber knew the signs. Every room had since been filled. Office space for both of them, a weight area, an entertainment area for neighbors, and more. She'd seen to the empty spaces being done away with. "How long has it been since you last slept?"

"...I got some sleep on the Mammoth."

"So an hour or two, tops." Another hum. "You need to try and get some sleep, babe."

"Something tells me it won't be very restive."

A moment of thought, and Amber's eyes opened slightly to see Morgan's were still closed. "You were the one who ordered that bird out, weren't you?" A gentle nod. "And it had the Chief in it…" Another nod. Amber sighed softly, her grip tightening just a little. Enough for Morgan to notice. "I'm sorry, Morgan."

There was no sound. What was there to say? Would she say "It's fine, I just sent them to their deaths, more likely than not, after finding them again. No big deal." Of course not. She grieved inside, on her own. If she didn't, she might lash out. Amber didn't deserve that. Nobody did.

Amber spoke up again after a time, one of her hands coming back to settle on Morgan's cheek, her thumb gently brushing back and forth. She felt the Spartan lean into it slightly, silently asking for more. "I know you. You would have gone yourself if you could. You couldn't." Nothing. "You're still here because you have to be, and I know it hurts, love, but you can't sit here and let yourself go sliding down that hill again."

Morgan's eyes opened this time, looking back into Amber's with a frown on her face, her eyes almost pleading for a proper explanation. Something that absolved her of the sin she felt she'd committed. "I know, but it's… hard. It's hard to want to try and keep that facade up. I used to be… used to dealing with it. I'd shove it all down, and then-"

Amber cut her off. "Then the dam would break and I'd find you lying in an empty room with every light turned on." It wasn't admonishing, merely an assurance that Amber knew her wife. She knew her well. "But you know why we worked on it, right?"

Of course she knew. Morgan could never forget. Her vision might be clouded… but she would never forget. They were some of the hardest moments of her life. She'd never been trained to deal with her emotions, merely shove them down and let the next mission bury it completely. Her entire childhood had been training to fight, but she couldn't fight her emotions. Amber had spent many nights with her, breaking that corroded wall of hers down. It had taken that, and plenty of proper therapy, to even make any progress. Antidepressants weren't exactly made with Spartans in mind. Even experimental drugs had failed. But she knew that she had to give her an answer.

"Yes. Because you wanted me to be happy. You wanted me to feel normal." A swallow over a knot that was working its way into her throat. "You wanted what was best for me, even if it hurt like hell to get there."

Another reassuring press against her cheek that showed she'd gotten the answer right. "Mhm, and it never gets easier, really." She thought back to that evening in that bar, the day of the Voi Memorial Ceremony. The two had spent an hour or two drinking together before she'd had to carry Morgan to bed, almost. After that, there had been a few times where they'd agreed a drink would do them both some good, and those had been when Morgan had loosened up the most, had let loose some of that stress that threatened to spill over every day, whether she knew it or not.

The alcohol had done some good, though she'd forced herself to cut back in the years since as well despite her own demons. It helped that the war had ended, but she also worried about Morgan's possible overindulgence and any bad habits.

They sat there in silence for a time, eyes closed, Amber gently stroking Morgan's cheek, their arms around each other as they shared one of their first true intimate moments since the tour had started. Morgan didn't realize it, but it calmed her a lot more than she'd expected it to.

The silence broke after a while, and Morgan sighed. "I missed them."

There it was.

"Yeah?"

A nod. "I thought I'd never see them again. I can't explain how happy I was when I saw him, right there in front of me." A gentle smile came to her face as the memory flashed in her mind. "Cortana's rampancy really…" Her smile dropped into a light frown. "Really put a damper on the whole reunion."

"You think that they'll be able to fix her if they make it back?"

"I can only hope so."

"Then let's hope so, hm?" Amber met her wife's eyes again, another reassuring stroke of her thumb. That was enough to get the big Spartan to nod slightly, to agree with it as she let herself be lost in the feeling of smooth skin against her cheek. She had missed it terribly. They got maybe a half hour together during the day at most unless they went out of their way. It didn't leave much for any affection either, not with so many eyes.

Morgan spoke up again a moment later. "We might have to do this more often," she teased, her smile returning as she thought about it. She had grown so used to their time together that it had been like a cold slap in the face being forced away from each other by conflicting schedules so often.

Amber laughed, a low rumble that Morgan had fallen in love with almost immediately, though she hadn't known what the feeling was at the time. "Don't get me started, because you know I'll do it. Hocus pocus alakazam and all that, and then suddenly I'm here with no memory of how I got here."

That got a laugh from her wife, and they both sat in silence again, one more comfortable, not weighed down so badly. But all good things come to an end, and Morgan returned to business.

"We're headed back to Earth, ship'll need refit and repair to deal with the damage properly. Likely not have time if the Didact decides he's gonna pay us a visit. Keep it hush hush for now, just in case."

"Need to know basis?" A nod. "Aye, ma'am. But we've got how long until we get home?"

Morgan hummed. "Monsoon, how long until we make it back to Earth?"

The artificial voice filtered in almost immediately. "Estimated time to Earth arrival, 34 hours, ma'am."

"Thank you, Monsoon. That'll be all." The AI didn't respond, and Morgan went on. "I figure I will take the chance for a nap. Lasky can run the ship, and Crown can handle the Spartans. What do you have left?"

"Few spooling checks on the bird, an issue with one of the thruster pods. You know I like making sure my bird is working properly first hand. Gimme about an hour, hour and a half. Then I'll join you. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. I'll get rid of my armor and I'll meet you there."

"Perfect." Standing up, Amber let her hand remain on Morgan's cheek for a moment longer before pulling her chin up and leaning in. A moment later, and a kiss brought the two together. Amber held it for a few moments, the two savoring it for what it was worth, before their bridge was cut and they were two people again. "Don't wait up."

Morgan smiled, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red. "You know I'll always wait for you."

Another laugh from Amber, and she took a moment to rub her hand across Morgan's cheek before pulling away and heading to the door, her hips swaying from side to side teasingly. She had helped to stabilize Morgan, hopefully long enough for them to get back to Earth and let her bury herself more in the things that she'd taken comfort in over the years.

A moment later, and the door closed behind her, and Morgan was alone again, her mind immediately starting to wander, the woman zoning out. She allowed herself a few seconds of this before grabbing the helmet and going back down to S Deck. She kept it off, and made for one of the armor rigs. The techs that oversaw the Brokkr system of armor rigs, having seen the Commander in her armor almost the entirety of their time on Requiem, shared a glance as she went through the process of removing the heavy plating and bringing herself back down to the tech suit underneath.

When it was over, she took a moment to look at her helmet again, as it was taken by one of the machine arms, and she saw the golden visor again before it was taken out of her field of view. When the machine finally released her feet, she stepped out of it, back onto the deck. Some armor pieces remained in view, held by the armor ring, others retracted into the floor for maintenance guided by Monsoon on things like the power pack and major shield emitters.

She felt lighter, now that the armor was off, but she was still held in the almost comforting embrace of the tech suit. Spartans lived in their tech suits, after all. It was their uniform, and their pajamas, all in one. While unpowered, it would still allow some semblance of enhanced strength, but without the power pack, the suit wouldn't be amplifying much. As far as Morgan was concerned, it was just additional armor in case she had to deal with low caliber rounds.

Fat chance.

There wasn't much left to do now but head back to her quarters. Another call out to the ship's AI, and Monsoon sat waiting for her orders patiently. "Monsoon, inform Crown I'll be attempting to wind down a bit while we're in transit, and let the company commanders know they've got 34 hours to deal with any armor, personnel, or weapon issues. After that…" She frowned. What happened after that? As far as anybody on this ship knew, there was nothing to do except get back to Earth and go through a dozen debriefs for every new rung on the ladder you had climbed. Lasky and herself would be holed up for days trying to inform everybody that needed to know whatever needed to be known, and she'd have to personally be there when Osman ripped Del Rio a new one. But in terms of what happened after?

She had no clue.

Part of her said to stay ready, to stay armed and armored up just in case the worst case scenario happened. She'd long ago stopped counting the odds in regards to anything important. She'd never expected to see John or Cortana again, and they'd both just popped up, somehow, on the same planet as them. Whether John stopped the Didact or not, she had to be vigilant. That was the responsibility she'd taken when she'd come back to the fold.

"After that, business as usual, but maintain readiness, and a roster of Spartans to remain armed and armored in rotating shifts from each company. Wargames continue as often as we're able in order to maintain readiness in case something goes wrong."

"Yes, Commander."

That was all it took. Things had just been set in motion that would alter the readiness and operational tempo of every single Spartan on the ship, with just a handful of words. She would be getting some sleep, some actual down time for the first time since the ship had crash landed on Requiem. It had been just under 40 hours that they'd spent on that planet, and she'd slept maybe three of them, and half of the remainder in combat.

Another thought passed her mind as she stepped into one of the elevators, and she frowned. When she'd signed on, she had expected to stay on the ship and fly a desk, but she'd ended up in the thick of it again.

Could she really ever truly get away from this life? She'd been dragged back into it, half on account of Greer and Osman, and half of her own will. But she didn't hate it, did she? No. She'd been run ragged, half dead and unable to cope with the loss of everything she knew when it all stopped, had needed a break. She'd had her break though, years worth of it. Had felt her heart quicken at the prospect of it all again.

But she also remembered back when she'd been Ackerson's pet project, when she'd been supported as needed and alone, nobody to worry about or anything beyond the mission at hand to fill her mind. Years disappeared under that veil. Everything blended together.

In a way, she missed that. But at the same time, she was used to fighting alongside others now. If she had to go back in time, and take away the pieces of the puzzle that had made her what she was now, would she?

The elevator doors hissed open, and for a few seconds, she didn't even realize she had come to her stop. With a start, she came back to the world, frowning. The door started to close on her, and her hand raised to hold it at bay.

Stepping out, she shook her head, her frown plastered in place. She couldn't let herself get lost in her mind again. The sooner she got some sleep, the better things would be.

Right?

Her quarters weren't far, and her legs ate up the distance in large chunks. When they came into view, she mentally sighed in relief, and disappeared inside.

The place was empty. Amber hadn't made it yet, but hopefully wasn't far behind. She quickly made for the bedroom. It didn't take long to make her way out of the tech suit, leaving it in the floor. It was like a second skin, but she didn't want a second skin right now. It would get in the way.

She changed into a flexible pair of shorts and a top with no sleeves. She had purposely bought massive clothes to sleep in, easy to slip off and back into her techsuit if anything happened. The thought passed her mind a moment later that she no longer really yearned for the skin tight embrace. Years of wearing armor made that like being naked. Years of bringing down that armor meant that it wasn't as necessary anymore.

Lying back on her bed, she sprawled out, arms and legs taking up most of the bed. She stared at the ceiling, her frown creeping back into place. Why was her mind wandering so much now, bringing back so many dark lines of thought? Maybe it was the Master Chief's sudden return, and just as sudden departure.

He had been a brick in the wall of her mind since she had lost him. Damaged, but cemented and shored up. She'd come to terms with it years ago, and now the scar had been ripped off and reopened. He wasn't… a relic, but in a way, he was a reminder of her old life. Before she'd met Amber, before she'd had a normal life, before she had ever thought that she'd survive to the end.

Another image came to mind. Her home, a small meeting between friends in the back yard. Kris and her husband, Amber nursing another beer and making flirty advances on her wife, and someone else. Someone bigger, more scarred up, and overall looking like someone who shouldn't even be there, but he was smiling, sitting back and relaxing.

Without realizing it, the corners of her mouth had turned up into a faint smile. It was a nice thought, seeing John as more than just the Master Chief. Seeing him as just another person was something that she hoped she could experience, maybe after this was all done. Maybe she could help him live a normal life, just like she had learned how to.

Her mind started racing, imagining all the scenarios that she had laughed about with Amber when she was going through them. Would they be just as funny watching John struggle with a vacuum cleaner, or asking her the same questions she'd asked in the beginning?

She hoped they would. Part of her screamed not to think these things, not to get her hopes up in case they got smashed down the line, but she ignored it. She'd spent too much time listening to her instincts. Now? She wanted to dream. She wanted to think the best case scenario was possible. It had been for her. So she pushed those thoughts away, and let herself take in the image of John watching one of those terrible movies she'd enjoyed.

He deserved to laugh, to live, to relax. She hoped that was what life let him do.

The door opening grabbed her attention. She had dozed off at some point, and now she was wide awake, sitting up on the bed and spotting Hocus stepping inside, shrugging out of her flight suit by unzipping it and pulling her arms out of the sleeves.

"Caught you napping, huh?" She asked, that trademark smirk on her face.

"Only a little bit." Morgan scooted over to her side of the bed, no longer taking the full thing up.

"Some is better than none. Sorry for taking so long." She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her hair out of the tight bun it was in and taking her boots off before removing the flight suit entirely and tossing it to the floor, leaving her in a tshirt and elastic shorts.

That was all Morgan needed, her arm wrapping around her wife's waist and pulling her down into the bed, immediately closing the distance. "I don't mind waiting."

Amber yelped as she was brought down, giving a look over her shoulder. "That so? You seem to be in quite a hurry now."

"Make the most of the time we have, right?"

"True."

"When's your next shift?"

Amber hummed after a moment, thinking it over. "I just did an 18, so I've got some time before I go back."

Morgan nodded, taking the information in before pressing her nose to Amber's neck, inhaling the scent of her. It was tinged with oil and burned fuel, but she could still detect the deodorant and body wash left over, barely there, and the scent of lavender mixed in. Amber's hand came up, resting on Morgan's cheek as she smiled and leaned back into the embrace.

It was moments like these that she had grown addicted to very quickly over the years. Slow, tender, loving. Things a Spartan wasn't built for, but Morgan had made it work. She was an impeccable soldier, her heart rate rarely ever rising above a cool 60.

But when Amber came into the picture, her heart always felt like it was skipping beats, beating faster, or sometimes stopping. The feeling of butterflies had never faded. Every new smile, every witty half-remark, every compliment, all of them made Morgan melt.

These moments were always precious to her, regardless of whether it was something big or small.

One of Morgan's hands came up and around her wife's chest, feeling around until she felt what she was looking for. A thin chain necklace that held Amber's dog tags. A moment longer of feeling, and she felt the thin gold band that hung off of the chain.

Her wedding ring.

Morgan's eyes closed completely, and she relaxed at the thought, simply moving it between her fingers. Morgan's real ring had been left at home, hidden inside of her safe. She had reasoned that there was no need to bring it when it would spend most of its time locked away in a dresser anyway. Now, they both wore smaller rubber bands that mimicked a wedding band, just in case, but Amber had kept hers close by, a way of keeping Morgan with her wherever she might be.

Both of them had a pale white ring around their left ring fingers. In the beginning, Morgan had questioned the need for a ring at all. Amber hadn't pushed it, but they'd spent plenty of time talking it over once their relationship had reached that level. Morgan hadn't been sure of what to do, or the sentiments behind it, but remembering Jorge's and Emile's dog tags hanging off of her dog tags, it had started to make sense.

Amber had been plenty fine with something small that was cheap, but sentimental. Morgan had instead gotten one for both of them, each having the other's service number on it. Amber had laughed when she'd seen it, but it had been of joy, rather than mockery. Nodding over and over, repeating yes, and letting the Spartan put a ring on her finger.

The rest was history.

Morgan was broken from her musings by her wife's voice. "You could do the same, y'know. You keep this up and you'll wear it down from all your touching."

Morgan hummed, shaking her head slightly without opening her eyes. "It'd get in the way of the tech suit and armor."

"Fair enough, but still. We'll have to find something to replace your ring until we get home."

"Like what?"

"Hell if I know… But we'll figure it out." Amber put her hand on Morgan's, gently running her fingers back and forth over the back of the Spartan's hand. "I saw the picture you had of me in your office."

Morgan's lips turned up in a smile, and a laugh barely managed to escape, sounding like a cough. "You did?"

"I wondered why Monsoon did that shit. That's not my most flattering picture."

"You're beautiful no matter what to me."

She could almost feel Amber rolling her eyes. "Kiss ass…" She said it like she was annoyed, but Morgan knew she was smiling.

She'd count that as a victory for now.

There wasn't any more talking between the two of them, simply content to relax in the other's presence until duty called once again. If it was up to Morgan, they'd stay like this forever, wrapped in each other's arms until every star burned out. That wasn't such a bad life.

Eventually, the pair was fast asleep, still tangled among each other's arms and legs, but more than comfortable after getting to sleep properly for the first time in what seemed like years.

It was a nice ending to an otherwise terrible day.

Chapter Text

"I am Lieutenant Ambrose. You have all endured great hardships to be here. I know each of you has lost your loved ones on Jericho VII, Harvest, and Biko. The Covenant has made orphans of you all. I am going to give you a chance to learn how to fight, a chance to become the best soldiers the UNSC has ever produced, a chance to destroy the Covenant. I am giving you the chance to be like me: A Spartan."

- Spartan-051, Kurt Trevelyan, Spartan III Alpha Company Induction

Light filtered into the Pelican's troop bay, and the wind that was buffeted about by the ventral thrusters that let the ship hover started whipping into the bay. The only occupants besides the pilot and co-pilot were a man with a graying widow's peak and a savage face that had been released from its constant tension. Now, it just looked tired. The other was a figure covered in blue armor, no emotions or expressions to be seen aside from whatever the golden visor reflected.

Morgan reached out and grabbed Andrew Del Rio's arm, lifting him to his feet and walking him out of the bay, where a pair of agents from the Office of Naval Intelligence stood waiting to take him, along with a man wearing the star of a Rear Admiral. His prosthetic legs were hidden by his shoes and the perfectly tailored uniform pants.

Releasing Del Rio, the ONI pair took him, one hand on each arm, their free hands resting on the butt of their sidearms. Morgan watched them go, and Rear Admiral Adam Greer stepped over to her before turning and watching Del Rio's back.

He was silent for a moment, before his voice found its way. "You know, when I asked you to come back, I didn't expect this to be what you did."

She turned her head slightly to look down at him, merely a glance before looking back. "I didn't expect a lot of the things that happened, but here we are." Her voice was dry, but contained. "You read my report?"

A grunt. "Three times now, so did the rest of the skulls." He gestured forward with his hand, and started walking. She followed.

"Then you know everything already."

"A paper can't be held accountable."

She pursed her lips behind the helmet. "Of course not. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have to."

He held up his hands as they walked. "I wasn't saying anything different. I trust you to make the decision you did. Osman does too, otherwise she wouldn't have given it to you, and we'd be doing something completely different… Maybe."

She turned her head fully, staring daggers into him. "Maybe?"

"It'd be one thing if we didn't know what was going on. The log files Monsoon transmitted for all bridge conversations relevant to our investigation are just peeling back another layer. Analysts are going over all of the sensor readings from when the ship was pulled in, scanned, whatever else was important. The problem here that really makes things different is that the Master Chief knew."

Morgan was silent, and he went on. "Both he and Cortana tried to get support and Del Rio refused it. Lasky is being questioned on the ship, as is the rest of the bridge crew, and Monsoon is with the Assembly. They've been at it since the ship arrived, and if they're still conversing, they may as well have been at it for eternity."

Morgan knew little about the Assembly, other than they were a council of AIs that were a regulatory body for Smart AIs and that had acted as 'shepherds' during the war until a change of heart at the end. Their status now was unknown to her. "And I'm guessing I need to be there with Del Rio to atone for my actions?"

His face contorted into a grimace. "No, not exactly. Osman wants to see you in person, to question you on it herself since you spoke with her authority. She's read the report, she knows everything, and probably more. I don't know exactly what she or any of the others planning, so you need to make sure you're air-tight, not just confident."

"If she has the report and everything else, then she'll know exactly what I did and why I did it."

"What she doesn't know, Morgan, is why you didn't go with him."

She frowned behind her helmet, her body turning towards him and that perfect Spartan facade disappearing in a wisp of Human emotion. "I couldn't. You know I couldn't."

Again, his hands came up defensively. "I know that, but she doesn't. She didn't get to the top by trusting anyone at first glance just because they're important or special. Parangosky trained her better than that."

Morgan sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. She had included the part of their mission against the gravity well generators where she and John had encountered the Librarian and all that she had said and done, had written down the words exactly. Helmet cam footage was useless. All it had shown was the ceiling when she'd been put flat on her back during the encounter, and then John suspended, arms outstretched as his armor was forced into an odd configuration, and then after a few moments he was released back to the ground.

"I can't use what may as well be called a dream as evidence in my defense, Adam."

"It's all you have, without him here to back it up, or Cortana. Armor logs showed massive spikes in your suit at the least, but we have no information from the Chief's armor aside from your squadcom and the biosigns it passed through, given he left almost immediately after. Spartans don't just ping KIA for nothing, and the armor isn't prone to random glitches."

A huff this time. It was all getting so tedious. They should be preparing just in case, not having a trial. She'd done her duty to the best of her ability, and now they would question her until she was wrung dry of all the information she had. She was no stranger to ONI or its endless hunger for information.

"What about the Navy?"

Greer frowned. "Navy has a vested interest in it too. It's their flagship and one of their captains got relieved of duty by a spook. Even at the best of times, there's a lot to peel back."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

Long ago, when she'd been little more than a hitman for ONI, she'd been perfectly capable of completing her missions, debriefing, and moving on. A clockwork routine that she never deviated from. Now, the concept of it bothered her, made her irritated, and worst of all, she no longer had the vice like grip on her emotions.

They were still on the heels of the ONI agents as they pulled Del Rio into the UNSC headquarters in Sydney, Australia. Despite heavy damage to the continent, HIGHCOM Facility Bravo-6 had been reinforced and taken little enough damage that it had continued to serve as the UNSC headquarters in the years after the war. Nicknamed 'The Hive', Morgan had never been here in person.

A cylindrical building, it was coated in reinforced titanium armor, EMP shielding, heavy blast doors, and with a heart deep within three kilometers of solid rock. There would be very little able to penetrate such a building. Additional defenses, like barbed wire fences, multiple guard posts covered with heavy weaponry remotely controlled from inside the facility, and three gunships standing alert in several levels of the above ground structure. Morgan couldn't see it, but on the roof of the building, a miniature MAC cannon sat waiting, not unlike the one she had used on Reach to protect the Pillar of Autumn during its escape.

Stepping into the building, the doors hissed shut behind her, and the two broke away from the ONI agents and their new 'prisoner,' heading a different direction. Greer was quiet for a long while, and she saw little reason to break that silence. Under better circumstances, things would be different, but of course, these weren't better circumstances. An elevator ride and a few more twisting corridors had them a kilometer underground and deep in the bowels of the Hive, nestled inside of Greer's own office.

Morgan's first thought was to look around, to take in the surroundings of it. A desk, a personal terminal, a holoprojector, and a slew of datapads stacked in an outgoing box. Very little in the way of personal effects. Without thinking, Greer gestured to the chair in front of his desk, before looking back over his shoulder and grimacing. "On second thought, probably don't sit on that."

Morgan's speakers were deliberately left on as she snorted. "You're not a very good host so far."

The admiral raised an eyebrow, looking at her for a moment to see if she was serious, before he decided to let it go and sit in his own chair behind the desk. Morgan remained standing. Another uncomfortable silence, and his frown grew.

Her helmeted head tracked around the room again, looking anywhere but the man's eyes, not that he would have known if she made eye contact anyway. What had gone from a handler-agent relationship to something almost friendly felt like it was currently on thin ice, and deep inside, the thought bothered him.

Before he could speak up, she turned her visor back to him, and whatever was coming was silenced on the way up his throat. Eye contact through the one way mirror that separated them, and after a few moments of her staring him down, she took the helmet off, setting it on his desk with a weighty thunk.

Her hair was pulled back tightly, exposing the entirety of her face as it snaked back and into the tightly wound bun that she put it in while in armor. It had a blue ribbon wound around it, but with her looking directly at him, it wasn't visible. Green eyes pierced into brown. "What are you doing, Adam? They know you're here with me, that you'll divulge whatever you can. ONI isn't the type to have leaks."

His mouth pulled down further, and he sat back in his chair, as if thinking, breaking eye contact. He didn't look back at her as he answered. "I won't be on the board that investigates your conduct, or allowed to be there with you. Our connection is considered too deep for that."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What, a few visits with years in between them is close? I wouldn't say that." She realized what those words meant as soon as she said them, and she looked away, taking a deep breath. Greer didn't respond, merely watched her as she went on. ONI wasn't what it was because of emotional outbursts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Greer nodded slowly. "I know." As his eyes met hers again, he realized how different she was from when he had first been assigned to her. She had been a Spartan then. Now, she was more than that. The thought didn't escape him that he now considered her to be 'different' from a Spartan.

They didn't say anything for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, before a loud ping interrupted their contemplation. Greer's eyes immediately went to his terminal. Before he did anything, he gave her one more order. "Put your helmet on. Leave it on unless they tell you otherwise."

"Why?"

"Because they can't see your face. They can't know what you're thinking or feeling. You need to draw on that Spartan resolve again, perfect bearing, no emotion, no hesitation. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "I do."

With that, he responded to his terminal's ping. "Greer."

A male voice filtered through. "The board is ready, Admiral. An escort is outside your office. Please send the Commander out and remain where you are."

His jaw clenched ever so slightly. It was a closed room meeting, and apparently, he didn't warrant the ability to observe. "Understood." The channel cut immediately, and his eyes met hers again, but her helmet was already on, and she was sealed inside. She only nodded at him, and he nodded back.

As Morgan turned her back to him, he couldn't help but think that he had just thrown her to the wolves. After all, what was a single wolf to an entire pack?

Four ONI agents were waiting outside, but rather than just being simple agents in the black fatigues, they were different. Morgan's visor played over them, and she felt her heart skip a beat. All of them wore MJOLNIR GEN 2, painted black with the only markings being the pyramid symbol of the Office of Naval Intelligence painted on their shoulders. They were clad in COPPERHEAD pattern armor, something that she hadn't seen in action on Infinity. Her Spartans wore all manner of gear, but she'd never seen COPPERHEAD in person. ONI kept their toys hidden away, not wanting to share with the Navy or Spartan branches.

She also didn't miss that they all had rifles held close to their chests. None of them said a word, and as she saw herself in each reflective visor, she frowned. "Lead the way, please." It was all she needed to say. They split, two on each side, a very obvious sign she was meant to be in their midst, bracketed on the front and rear in the tight corridor. They didn't say anything, and once she stepped into place, the two in front started to move, she followed, and the rear guard was on her like a shadow.

It made her uneasy, being escorted like a prisoner to a hearing. If she didn't know better, she'd think that it was an execution with the judge, jury, and executioner being Serin Osman or whoever else was sitting in on the hearing. It sent a shiver up her spine, but she kept herself controlled. They wouldn't be allowed to see weakness, to see any of the emotions on her face, or see that the ghostly fingers of fear were creeping along her body and mind.

They walked for several minutes, going through another elevator ride deeper into the facility, and it all blended together. She had no idea where she was, but it had been designed that way. Leave it to an organization of spies to make a building designed to thwart any opposing spies. Not that the Covenant had ever been able to breach the place anyway, even if they had spies of their own.

The two in front of her moved away, splitting off to stand on either side of a door made from dark steel, hands on their weapons still, and they both looked at her again. This was where her hearing would be. The two behind her filled the hallway, ensuring there would be no stepping back, only forward. With the only option being to go in, she took it, and the door split down the middle.

Darkness inside, save for a long, high table of five people sitting side by side, covered in a spotlight that was behind them. Their faces were obscured by shadow, and in front of the table, another was pointed directly down. That was where she would make her stand.

Even as she stepped under that light, she felt that familiar old feeling from many years ago, one that put her on edge and made her adrenaline spike. Despite her enhanced eyes, there was no looking through that darkness that ONI had deliberately made to prevent her from seeing them. She doubted she was the first to be in this position, and would not be the last.

Her heels clicked together, her body went rigid, and her hand came up to her visor in a salute that would have put a perfect statue to shame. "Commander Morgan Bailey, Spartan-B312, reporting as ordered."

No movement at the table for a few moments, no whispers, nothing. It was like they had been statues carved to sit there and stare her down, intimidate her, make her sweat. But the man in the center had mercy on her.

The deep voice that came through was one she hadn't heard in person in years. "At ease, Commander." Sitting forward, hands steepled on the table, Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood's face was given some light, revealing that CINCFLEET himself had been brought to question her. It was his flagship she had taken, after all. Nobody would feel the effects of that more than him, save for maybe Del Rio.

Morgan dropped her salute, a single fluid motion putting her at ease as she waited for him to go on. "Your actions aboard UNSC Infinity on two July, 2557, have called into question the reasons you decided to relieve Captain Andrew Del Rio of duty." It was short, but there were many things that hid between the lines.

Why? Who? What? And most of all you better have a damn good reason for doing this.

He went on. "Information from all sources aboard Infinity have been brought together and examined, including those by temporary ship's AI MON-3385-7, bridge cameras, after action reports, video and audio evidence pulled from the armor recorders of Fireteam Crown and your own, and direct witness reports from Commander Thomas Lasky, Spartan Sarah Palmer, and multiple bridge operations officers." A pause, and he glanced down at the terminal inlaid in the table. "Additionally, questions about usage of authority allegedly granted by Admiral Serin Osman, Commander-in-Chief of the Office of Naval Intelligence must be answered." Another pause, longer this time, drawn out. "Finally, the recovery and subsequent departure of Master Chief Petty Officer of The Navy Spartan John-117. Are you prepared to answer any questions asked by the United Nations Space Command Security Council and accept the verdict passed down to you?"

Morgan didn't hesitate. "Yes, sir."

It was all she needed to say. Hood went on. "Do you also understand that findings by this board, if deemed illegal, may result in punishments up to and including penalty of death?"

"Yes, sir."

The next question wasn't directed at her. "Is the security council prepared to begin?"

Each person answered from left to right. "UNSC Army, General Nicolas Strauss, ready to begin.

"UNSC Marine Corps, General Phillip Hogan, ready to begin."

"UNSC Air Force, General Ronald Dellert, ready to begin."

"UNSC Office of Naval Intelligence, Admiral Serin Osman, ready to begin."

Finally, Hood came back. "UNSC Navy, Admiral Terrence Hood, ready to begin." He looked to Morgan and off behind her left shoulder. "Is the liaison to the Spartan Branch ready to begin?"

A voice behind her and to her left sounded, one that made her nearly look back over her shoulder at him. "Spartan Branch liaison officer, Jun-A266, ready to begin."

Footsteps behind her moved closer, until Jun was standing next to her. Neither of them looked at the other. Hood spoke again. "Commander, the liaison officer of the Spartan Branch will join you as the representative of your branch and someone whose authority was also invoked when you relieved Captain Del Rio of command. Do you have any objections?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Commence UNSC Security Council meeting 04072557-1, July 4th, 2557. Judgement, mark the time, seal the doors."

An artificial voice responded, but Morgan saw no AI. "Aye, sir. Doors sealed, record commencing."

Hood didn't respond to the AI, looking back to Morgan. "You've served many years and given your life to the UNSC when we asked. Your status as one of the heroes of the Great War and your sacrifices in the pursuit of the survival of Humanity have given you a great deal of authority, even prior to your assignment as INFSPARCOM." His voice softened slightly. "As I told you many years ago, when you and I spoke at the Voi Monument, you've done more than could ever be expected of a single person. Your deeds have gone down as some of the most important in all of our species' history, and though your name will never be released to the public while you still live, know that your accomplishments will always be remembered as some of the brightest in our darkest hours. Your selection as INFSPARCOM was not something done by Admiral Adam Greer and Spartan-A266 alone. Myself and Admiral Osman both put our names on the orders that brought your meeting into being and laid the groundwork for you to be here today."

She frowned behind her helmet, wondering why it felt like Hood was trying to soften a blow that was on its way to her jaw.

"That being said, your decision to relieve Captain Del Rio is something that cannot be ignored. The implications alone are serious enough to warrant an extended investigation that will continue even after the conclusion of this meeting. The catalyst of this event has been decided to be the recovery of Master Chief Petty Officer of The Navy Spartan John-117, henceforth referred to as the Master Chief. Please, tell me the events leading up the Master Chief leaving Infinity."

Morgan took a deep breath, going over the events in her mind in seconds. "Sir. The recovery of the Master Chief on the Forerunner planet Requiem happened almost immediately after the Infinity was pulled in by an unknown force inside the planet. Multiple Covenant Remnant vectors closed on the ship while it was down, and Forerunner constructs joined the battle on the side of the Remnant. Multiple Spartan and Marine fireteams were dispatched to attempt to find an entry point for cyberwarfare specialists to acquire swaths of data pointing to the name of the planet, the situation at hand, and possible causes as to why Infinity had been pulled in. Fireteam Crown, led by myself, was one of these fireteams, and Commander Thomas Lasky was with us at the time. Our Pelican was brought down, and we continued to our mission objective, reaching a Forerunner structure that allowed us our entry point. At that time, a friendly signature on the motion tracker, outside of our approach direction, was found and discovered to be the Master Chief. The Master Chief and myself separated from Fireteam Crown to clear an extraction point for Pelicans to approach, returning to Infinity and repelling boarders both Forerunner and Covenant, as well as an unknown Forerunner commander known as The Didact."

She paused, letting them know that one part of her story was finished, and leaving it open to question.

Hood went on, the voice of the council. "And what of the Didact? What was their objective? What was their purpose for attacking Infinity?"

"Information discovered by the smart AI CTN 0452-9, Cortana, and interactions with the imprinted memories of a Forerunner known as The Librarian, led the Master Chief and myself to believe that the Didact has maintained a grudge against Humanity since before the disappearance of the Forerunner species prior to our recorded history."

"And the interaction with this Librarian, armor recordings indicate no physical meeting or auditory cues for the less than ten seconds after you were suddenly brought to the ground. Explain."

"During the armor recording, a point in time where the Master Chief was suspended and I was brought to the floor happened where, and I can't speak for him, I met the Librarian. Her words to me were cryptic, something that I have yet to fully understand. She said her job was to guide Humanity on their journey to achieving the Mantle of Responsibility, that she had planned for a thousand lifetimes to produce eventualities that would lead to such a meeting. My part in this was to 'deliver The Ancilla to The Champion. Fate decided my beginning, but not my end. I was not expected to survive, and my evolution was not factored into play.' She said I was to protect The Champion when he made his choice, or else all would be lost."

They were silent for a moment, each looking at each other, and the figure that was Admiral Osman made a few notes on her terminal, finally speaking up. "Commander, do you have any idea what she may have meant by this?"

Morgan didn't respond immediately. "I think so, ma'am, but I can't be completely sure without her explaining it. It's all just conjecture. I believe that The Ancilla is Cortana, that The Champion is the Master Chief. Delivering Cortana to him may have been when I was tasked with escorting her to the Pillar of Autumn on Reach before it fell. Something about the Master Chief is important, something that only he can do to combat the Didact. I wasn't supposed to meet her, I believe I was supposed to die on Reach, but I didn't. I believe that whatever her interaction with him at that time was, it was to guide him on whatever path may have been set to make sure we aren't killed. At the end, she told me that 'he has found us,' possibly referring to the Didact."

Before either could ask anything else, General Hogan spoke up. "You expect us to allow the results of our hearing to be influenced by what may well be a trick or a hallucination?"

Morgan didn't hesitate. "I expect nothing, General. I'm merely giving all of the relevant information and my own thoughts on the matter in an attempt to best come to the right resolution."

"The right resolution to the case, or for you?"

Hood cut him off. "General, please allow the Commander to finish. Conjecture is to be expected, and was anticipated." With that, he gestured to Morgan to continue.

"Very little was explained by the Librarian, except that she was adamant that he continue alone. Returning to Infinity after the destruction of a network of gravity well generators, I relayed all of this to Captain Del Rio, who attempted to return to Earth immediately. The Master Chief and Cortana attempted to gain support in an attempt at chasing and subduing the Didact, believing that he posed a threat to Humanity and must be stopped. Captain Del Rio refused to release a Pelican and material required for pursuit, and attempted to order his arrest and the retirement of Cortana, in the early stages of rampancy. I made a decision at this point based off of my own thoughts on the situation and agreed with the Master Chief that the Didact must be stopped, leading to my relieving of Captain Del Rio of command and giving interim command to Commander Lasky. Immediately after, the Master Chief and Cortana departed Infinity to pursue the Didact. Approximately fifteen minutes later, Infinity exited Requiem and set course to Earth to prepare in case the Didact managed to make it to Earth. This concludes my knowledge of the situation. Whether the Master Chief has succeeded or failed, I have no idea, but believe that if he has failed, we'll know within weeks, if not days."

The board was quiet for a time, and Morgan felt a bead of sweat travel down her back, wicked away almost immediately by her suit, but the ghost of that drop continued to grab at her thoughts.

All of the board members looked down to their terminals, entering notes or speaking with one another in a way that was kept quiet around her enhanced hearing. Hood continued. "Very well, Commander. Your next question is to answer why you invoked the authority granted to you by Admiral Osman."

Morgan swallowed, taking another deep breath. "Captain Del Rio refused to allow the Master Chief to depart the ship in pursuit of the Didact, and his attempt to confine the Master Chief and retire Cortana was based around her rampancy and the Master Chief's age and time in isolation since his status as missing in action was assigned at the end of the Human-Covenant War. I believed that, unless he was relieved of command and the Master Chief was given the support he needed, that the Didact would be left unopposed and free to prepare whatever he needed to complete his objectives, whatever they may be." Licking her lips, she realized they were suddenly dry, and her suit was warm, despite the climate control meaning it was perfectly tuned. "Prior to being pulled in by Requiem, I received a message from Admiral Osman, asking that I be the ONI liaison onboard and that I act in her name should a dire situation arise. Had it been anything else, I would not have invoked the authority it allowed me."

Osman's voice came next. "Do you believe that your actions, essentially taking command of the UNSC Navy's flagship, were warranted?"

She didn't hesitate, looking directly at Osman. "Yes, ma'am. I believe that I made the right choice, and that if I could change anything, the only difference would be that I would have gone with him myself."

"Your relationship with the Master Chief, define it." Hood came next, knowing exactly what it was. "Also, please remove your helmet, Commander."

She closed her eyes, frowning, before she cleared her face of emotion, and reached up to unseal her helmet. It came off, and she hooked it to her belt before looking back to Hood, meeting his eyes. "He's a friend, someone I fought alongside in the darkest hours of not just my life, but of all our lives. He's just as much a hero as I am, if not more. When Voi was glassed all those years ago, and you thought that our best bet was to stay behind and try to survive, he was one of those people that believed we should go and search for Cortana's solution. He trusted her, even when she was corrupted and on her last legs. When I took Infinity from Del Rio and gave him the order to pursue, I was trusting him just like you did. I believe, completely, that if anyone can stop the Didact, it's the Master Chief."

Silence. Her gaze had hardened, and without realizing it, her voice had raised in volume, her stance had broken to something that was leaning toward them, her hand pointing at him directly. She frowned as she realized she'd lost her cool, and she returned to the at ease position.

Hood was silent for a time, and nobody else said anything. "Why did you stay behind, Commander?"

"Because my instincts told me that the Librarian was right, that I could only protect him from Del Rio and give him the opportunity to go and challenge the Didact. I was told I couldn't go with him, or else all would be lost."

"And you believe that instinct was enough?"

Morgan's lips tightened into a thin line. "As a Spartan, more than any other weapon, instincts have been one of my strongest attributes. I learned to trust them long ago, before I was given my armor, and they've served me better than any gun or shot fired in anger. As a career sailor, you know the merit that instinct brings when everything is on the line."

He sighed softly, just loudly enough for her to pick it up with her enhanced hearing, but it was little more than a whisper. "I cannot deny that." Another short silence, and he spoke up again. "Judgement, scrub this next question and response from the record."

"Yes, sir. Awaiting record resumption."

Hood looked back at Morgan. "Tell me, Morgan, no ranks or hearing, but person to person, what effect this decision had and any biases you may have had." He had seen her at the end of it all, when the loss of the Master Chief had nearly broken her, when he'd seen her unconscious in the hospital, when he'd heard from the doctors and corpsman that had treated her after digging her out of the Dawn just what she'd suffered in that anguish.

She sat there for several long moments, staring him in the eye, feeling that old wound open up. "I thought he was dead, gone forever right at the end of it all. I thought it was unfair that he had done so much and been killed off when our victory was held tightly in our hands. When I found him again, it was like looking at a ghost, but he was there. Alive. Right in front of me." Her voice was strong, but she felt that knot rising in her throat at the thought of it all now, without everything bearing down on her. "Gone for five years, alone, and he comes back to the rest of us. He didn't have to chase the Didact. He's earned his rest a million times over. But what did he do? It was his suggestion to chase the Didact and send the rest of us back to warn Earth. All he had was a Pelican, a single Pelican, with no slipspace drive or extended stores. He knew that he was condemning himself to possibly being left behind again. Forgotten, with no way home."

She was starting to shake now, her voice rising again, and she swallowed against that knot in her throat. "When I had to give him the order to go, and watch him leave again with the possibility I may never see him again, that I had just ordered him to what may very well be his death? I hurt myself, deep inside. I ripped an old wound open and dumped a can of salt into it. Nothing has ever hurt me as badly as that did, and yet I did it, because I had to. He did it, because he knew he was the only person that could. So to answer your question, Admiral, if I could have gone with him, I would have. If I could have made things easier for him, I would have. If I could have done it myself instead of him, I would have. Every decision I made in regards to this led me to the only conclusion that I could have made that has any chance of us surviving an attack by the Didact."

Her voice was almost at a yell, and all of them were looking at her as she went on, spilling years of hidden pain and the raw wound that had been left behind by those orders. "If you believe that I've failed or that I've made the wrong decision, you can ask yourselves what you would have done. Ask if you could have done any better in the face of all of this on a split second with only instinct and trust in a god damn hero who's given everything and more to you." Her face was drawn into a snarl, green eyes alight with a fire that hadn't been so bright since they'd reflected the fires of a dying world where she was supposed to have made her grave. "Do what you will, Admiral, and let it be known that I did my best, as I've always done. Remember those fallen heroes that the UNSC and UEG's leadership have relied on for so many years now, and give them one more chance to protect you, because it's all we know. It's all we've ever known."

She took a deep breath, struggling to control her breathing, to get a handle on her emotions, and she returned to her at ease position. "Spartans have given their lives time and again for the survival of our species when all we've known has been loss and hurt and war. We'll continue to do so until we've all passed on from whatever it is that managed to get the better of us. Right now, one of them is racing against time in the hopes that he'll stop the Didact, ready to throw away his life in an instant if it means the rest of us get to wake up tomorrow and be safe. The rest of us will stand ready to take the torch if it falls from his fingers. Most of all? I'll be there, whether he succeeds or fails, and I'll do the same thing he would have. That, Admiral, is my stance on it all."

Her lips sealed shut, and she focused solely on controlling herself, on forcing all of that emotion back into its box where it had laid dormant, ready to be used again. Her cheeks felt wet, and the knot in her throat was making it hard to breathe, but she didn't wipe her cheeks, didn't try to put on that stony facade again, didn't try to hide it all away from them.

They didn't say anything for some time, once again interacting with their terminals, and it seemed like an eternity before Hood spoke up again. "Judgement, resume the record." The AI responded as he had done before, and Hood went on. "Commander, the security council has made its decision on the matter. Your orders are to return to UNSC Infinity and resume your duties as INFSPARCOM effective immediately, and make preparations to engage the Didact should he appear over or around Earth. Additionally, you're assuming a temporary billet as executive officer until an appropriate replacement can be named. As your knowledge of the situation outclasses that of almost anybody else, you're perfectly suited. Your authority will be increased as a method of preventing future incidents similar to that of the relief of Captain Del Rio. Effective immediately, you've been promoted to Captain and will be expected to willingly accept greater responsibility and authority, as well as to continue to strive to be the best that Humanity has to offer." He typed something in to his terminal, and looked back at her as the lights in the room came on, removing all of the shadow that the board had hidden in.

With his face exposed, he stood, as did the rest of the security council. "Congratulations, Captain. I know that you'll continue to make me proud, and be an example that every Human strives to emulate as we continue to better ourselves every day."

Morgan's throat tightened again as it all settled in just what had happened, and her heels clicked together again, her hand coming back up in a salute, staring straight ahead.

Hood waited a few moments, and all of the other members of the security council emulated her before he touched his hand to the brim of his hat in a return salute, dropping it immediately after. "You're dismissed, Captain. Make the best of what time you have. Something tells me we'll all need it."

Morgan dropped her hand, spinning on her heel, and without another word, marched to the door, not slowing down as it slid open and she went through, past the ONI agents that had been guarding the door. Another pair of feet were hot on her heels as the door sealed shut again.

Jun's accent was thinner than it had been when they'd fought together all those years ago. "Well… that went well, didn't it?"

She had almost forgotten he had been there, that he had followed her out, such was the new weight on her mind. She slowed her steps and wiped at her cheeks, looking back over her shoulder at him. He was still wearing that black suit, his head shaved completely bald, and the arrow tattoos on the left side of his head standing out against his skin. "It… yeah, better than I expected it to, given the situation."

He gave her a half smile, moving to walk beside her rather than behind her. "You did good. Seems like they wanted to put you under the microscope and see if you cracked."

Morgan cut her eyes at her 'brother'. "You see any cracks?"

Jun was quick to respond. "I did, but I think that might be for the better."

That was something she hadn't expected. "You'll have to let me in on your point of view then."

"People like us, the twos and threes, people expect us to be sociopaths, emotionally stunted, machines. You aren't one of those though."

She stopped, turning to look at him. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that they expected you to give them nothing but cold truth. I've seen them in session more than once and that's always how it goes. Hogan and the other generals usually talk more, but this wasn't their fight. Hood knows you personally, and Osman was a two herself, washout – don't let her know I told you – and they expected you to be a good soldier and keep your military bearing." He gave her another grin, his teeth showing through this time as a light glinted in his eye. "But you basically all but shoved it down Hood's throat that you think you were right, consequences be damned. Nobody I know has ever done that to him."

Morgan's eyebrow raised. "What, you mean put the admiralty in their place?"

"Not so much that, as much as you brought up the things that keep him awake at night and contribute to his alcoholism almost as much as the last years of the war did."

She frowned, looking away for a moment, attempting to focus a bit more. "So that's why it seemed like a damn witch hunt at first. Set the stage and see if I tripped up."

"More or less. Osman might be powerful, able to butt heads with Hood, but ultimately it's his say in the end and you came out on top. I think that you would have either way, but you did it with style this time, Six."

That was a name she hadn't been called in ages, and she nodded as she navigated around it recalling something she had said to Jorge before she'd lost him. "I aim to please."

He gave her another smile, more genuine this time as he clapped her on her shoulder. "Well, time to go back to how it used to be for a little while, focus on the pressing matters and then cry into a cup of coffee later, right?"

She gave a laugh that was little more than a huff. "Right. I need to get back to Infinity and you need to get back to… what, exactly? What do you even do?"

They started walking again as Jun answered her. "Oh, you know, go find street kids who wanna be the Green Knight like we did." It was a dark joke, given their past. "No, I find the best of the best and make them better. Make them fours. Then after they're done with me, they might get sent to you."

"I thought you hung out with Greer more, got him coffee, shined his stars, stuff like that."

"Not Greer's, no. Musa likes to ask me if I will sometimes though, but never says please." At her look, he only laughed, shaking his head, but he didn't walk back what he said. Morgan wasn't entirely sure if he was serious or not. "I'm a man of many hats. Recruiter, chief of operations, liaison, plenty of other things that might bore you to hear."

"You'd be surprised, Jun."

"I'm rarely surprised, Morgan."

Her own lips curled up into a gentle smile, some of the stress of her hearing easing out of her. "Maybe one day, when I'm back home, we can catch up without work getting in the way."

He gave her a smile to match. "I'd like that a lot. I'll look forward to it. It'll be nice to see each other again without all of… this," he said, gesturing around them, "hanging over us."

A nod from the big woman, and she held her hand out. When he grabbed it, she pulled him in for a hug, dwarfing him in her armor. "I'll look forward to it too. It's always good seeing you again, regardless of the circumstances."

He wasn't caught off guard, returning the hug with no hesitation. "I think so too. It's been too long." Pulling away, he slapped her shoulder pauldron. "Just a bit longer, and we'll both be free to see each other again. Now go on, get outta here. You stay here too long and you'll turn into a spook."

Morgan only grinned at him, shaking her head as she turned and left, her helmet coming back onto her head.

Getting back to the surface was easy enough, but she went past it, a message from Greer showing up in her HUD and instructing her where to go, leading up to a landing pad near the middle of the building's height. On it, a Pelican sat waiting, ready to take her back to the ship.

Boarding it, the trip was short, leaving her plenty of time to think on what had happened. It had been like a reverse kangaroo court. It bothered her in a way. She had expected more from it, had expected to be jailed or punished in some way. Even if she had been punished, she still would have done things just the same.

But none of it really mattered now. She had made it out the other side without a scratch. Now, all she had to do was keep the fire burning until the Master Chief returned, victorious or otherwise.

Infinity came into view, and the Pelican slid into one of the bays, turning around as it settled to the deck and the bay door opened, Morgan catching sight of Thomas Lasky, standing with his arms crossed

Stepping out, she took her helmet off, locking eyes with Lasky. "How did things go for you?"

He grimaced. "Not the best. Never like it when I get questioned by ONI. Rarely ever a good day when they want something from you. Yours?"

She grimaced back. "It went well, but it didn't feel like it." She cleared her face. "I'll be serving as your interim XO until they get someone else onboard and this whole mess is cleared up. Got a promotion while I was at it, in case you ever decide you wanna pull a Del Rio."

Lasky frowned at that. "You too, huh? Well, hopefully you don't have to. I don't fancy squaring off against a Spartan like he did." Gesturing to her, he waved her forward. "Come on, let's head to the bridge. Plenty to see and more to get ready for. Preliminary maintenance reports indicate we took some nasty scarring to the ventral side of the ship. Estimate is two months to replace and repair everything, fix up the buckled plating, test the replacements that need to be assigned, and a slew of other things you probably don't care about."

She shrugged as they started the trip to the bridge. "Anything I can do then? Or do you just wanna keep things the way they were?"

He made a noncommittal gesture. "Job didn't change too much. I could probably do it myself, have an admin staff take up the slack if you prefer to focus on Spartan work. Figure that might be better for you."

Gone was the hesitation that had been there when she'd taken command from Del Rio. Now, he was officially in command, his field of responsibility concrete and well defined. She thought it was better this way.

"I think that might be best, sir."

He looked back at her as they stepped into the elevator that would lead up to the command deck. "You still don't need to call me sir."

"Force of habit."

That got a twitch of the mouth from him, almost a smile, but he held it in place. "I'll allow it."

She let her own smile filter through. It felt good to smile. It was something that she'd learned to appreciate. Every one was another moment for her to feel good, rather than stressed, downtrodden, or broken. Just for a moment, an escape from the darkness. "What's our plan now? What are we doing moving forward?"

"Ship's already being swarmed by techs to get Infinity fixed. Entirety of the dry docks over Australia have been repurposed to get her back up to fighting strength. Whatever gave the order for that came through within the last hour, so you must have done something right down there."

She pursed her lips. "You could say that."

He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised, but didn't hesitate to go on. "Well, it means we'll hopefully be ready if anything happens. I hope not, but…" He trailed off, the ending more than obvious to both of them as the elevator let them out. "I've given the order for the ship to be kept at full readiness. Surge operations in effect, REDCON 1. Orders filtering down through the different commands with need to know information stuck with department heads and trickling through only as needed. We can have the ship at full tilt, operationally and physically, at a moment's notice. We keep it too long, though, and we'll be exhausted if something happens while we're catching our breath."

She looked down at him. "How long does it take to transition from standard to surge?"

He frowned. "We've done drills plenty of times, and there are so many different hangars and pads separated from the overall docking deck that it's a tossup. Some can get up and running quick, others are still finding their stride. It's been one of our priority tasks since we got underway, but spending time in slipspace so often means that we can't launch."

"None of it matters if we end up fighting a Forerunner battleship or whatever might show up on our doorstep. I don't see our single ships being able to deal with the Didact's toys. Are we sure we even want to risk sending out fighters or bombers that might get swatted before they can even get in range?"

Lasky shrugged, frowning. "I don't want to throw lives away if I don't have to. It depends on what comes in the end, if it comes."

Morgan's frown matched his. "Assume that the Didact is on his way right now. Anything less leaves us open."

"Way ahead of you."

They stepped onto the bridge, staring out through the view ports at the Earth, hanging below them, with the occasional dock worker shifting in front of them on his path between the slew of repair cradles that were oriented around the Infinity.

As Morgan looked over it, she tried to find her home, or the area of it, wondering if she'd make it back after all of this. So close, and yet so far away at the same time. She thought about Kris, about the older woman's family. She thought about the people she'd met in town over the years, of all the things she'd seen and done without a war hanging over her head.

Something deep inside told her to be ready, that home would still be there when she was done, waiting for her. It was familiar, in a way, almost like that combat high that had taken her so many times, but relaxing at the same time, providing a level of focus that she'd learned to hone.

An instant later, and space was torn asunder, an ancient enemy come back to enact revenge.

Chapter Text

"It's not something I like to remember, but it's still there whenever I lay awake at night. That's a day forever burned into my memory, one that could have meant the end of us in a way that the Covenant couldn't match. Seven million people, gone in an instant, with no trace they'd ever been there at all save for the ashes left behind. I sit and wonder some nights, when I've had a few to drink, and the thought comes to mind: What would have happened if the Master Chief hadn't been there? I've never come to terms with the possibilities, and it'll haunt me until the day I die."

- Vice Admiral Thomas Lasky (Ret.), "Infinite Choices: The Memoirs of Thomas Lasky" (Published 2573)

A slipspace portal was never made easily, whether it was an entrance or an exit. Human ships had always tore open holes in subspace to enter that multitude of dimensions that allowed faster-than-light travel, and when they exited, it was as if the titanium clad behemoths were clawing their way through. Covenant ships had repurposed Forerunner technology, and they were able to enter and exit easier, traverse their route faster, and generally had a much easier time of it.

But when the ancient Forerunner battleship Mantle's Approach emerged from slipspace in high Earth orbit, the only reason anybody knew it was even there at first was due to Infinity's sensor technician immediately slamming her hand down on an alert button on her console, her voice cracked as she realized just how large this new signature was.

"New contact just slipped in! It's massive! Captain!" She called out what she found, already forwarding her information to every other relevant station on the bridge before Lasky, standing behind the holotable, could take his first step. Alarms inside the ship were blaring, people were in motion, red combat lighting filled the bridge, and all weapons systems and shields were brought online as Infinity's reactors pushed power through her veins.

"Put it up on the main screen!" He called out to her, eyes already on the main screen as he spotted the data stream that indicated where the ship was exiting, estimated size, and the huge amount of energy that was being released by a slipspace transition that was capable of pulling such a massive ship.

Bridge techs were already talking to each other, and to the departments that they worked closely with. Navigation was plotting an intercept course to point the bow and the four Series-8 super MAC cannons at the perceived exit point. Weapons were pulling even more power from the reactors to bring the MAC cannon recharge rate up to maximum. Flight ops was giving orders to set multiple ships for CAP and immediate defense of the ship against any fighter assets that might be launched. All of these officers and more worked in close coordination, the nerve center of a single organism acting in concert in a way that let Infinity unsheathe her claws and stand ready to defend Earth, even with the ragged wound running across her gut. She and her crew were the first, and maybe last, line of defense against the former supreme commander of the Forerunner military, so many millennia ago.

Lasky was a whirlwind of motion and orders, pointing at each station as he gave the instructions. "Comm, report to Bravo-6, critical priority: Possible Didact incursion, moving to intercept, requesting Home Fleet support and ODP priority tasking synced to Infinity datalink. Flight ops, keep our birds close and don't let them get out from under our wing unless absolutely necessary. Weapons, unchain Archer missile pods and prepare for saturation bombardment, bring MACs to full charge and standby for firing, priority energy request granted. Nav, warm up emergency maneuvering thrusters in case evasive action is necessary. Everybody else, maintain crew integrity and pass information as needed." Almost as a final bit, he grabbed at the handset that was under the holotable, pulling it to his mouth and keying the mic to send his next orders through the ship's intercomm system. "All hands, general quarters. Essential personnel, stand to. Non-essential personnel to damage control stations. Security teams, stand by to repel boarders."

He released the button and replaced the handset, looking back out the viewport just as the Mantle's Approach exited slipspace, looking just as alien as the Covenant had but even more so. Where the last attack on Earth had been at the hands of bulbous ships, looking like flying whales and sharks in their form, this was different. Hard, angular features backlit by orange and red between the massive armored plates stood out just as all Forerunner architecture had done. It dwarfed anything any of them had ever seen. Lidar and radar scanners worked in time with cameras in all spectrums of light to get an immediate profile on the ship. Speed, weapons, size, and even possible shield strength based on the amount of electromagnetic energy it was throwing off in waves.

Scans came back, and the officer at the sensor station responded immediately. "Sir! She's bigger than anything we've ever seen! Sitting right at 371 kilometers tall, under half as wide and long!"

Lasky nearly froze in his tracks as he looked over, feeling that cold dread in his gut that had come with heated combat in other naval postings, but he couldn't let that take hold of him, couldn't let it be seen by the crew. He was an example, their commander, and he would lead them as best he could as his first true act in command of the ship. "Hand off to weapons! Continue scans! Any indication that it's damaged or been attacked or any sign of the Master Chief?"

It was a long shot, but he had to ask. "No sir! No hull breaches detected on the near side, ODP datalink shows the same for the far side!

A curse, and that ball of anxiety weighed heavy as his nerves took over. Had the Chief failed? Were they out of time and options? No. Even if the Chief had never made it and was still on Requiem, Infinity was still here, still ready to bring the fight to the Didact and any other enemies of Humanity, even if it cost them everything. It was their duty to protect Humanity.

Whatever the cost.

More information came surging in, a tsunami of data, scans, battle plans, and more. Lasky trusted his crew to handle it, that he didn't need to hold their hand for everything, and he turned back to the other person who had stood watching, eyes locked on to the massive ship that was encroaching on their home.

"Captain?" He started. "I don't know what you plan to do, but if you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them."

Morgan frowned at the title, almost forgetting she was a Captain now. No, she didn't have any ideas. She wasn't a naval command officer, she was made for one man army style assaults on the ground, or when needed, piloting a fighter better than any non-augmented pilot in the fleet, and probably the augmented ones too. "No, I don't." She looked at him now. "What would you have me do, Captain?"

Lasky's brain went into overdrive as he tried to think of what was going on, and how best to employ so many people on such a large ship. "Get your Spartans ready, have them armed and armored up, in case we need to deploy them to the ground or, god forbid, that monster of a ship. Any further orders come through for you, you'll know almost immediately."

She nodded, already turning on her heel to leave, a comms channel opening with Crown and the three company commanders. Green lights lit up next to their names as they were tuned in and listening. When all of them were green, she started. "Get your armor on, draw weapons, get the rest of the Spartans moving likewise. Prep for either ground defensive deployment to HVT sites or boarding actions."

Palmer was the first to respond. "Ma'am? This about what I think it is?"

"Yes, Palmer. Confirmed massive enemy vessel currently in orbit over Earth, and I doubt very much it's friendly."

There was silence for a few moments, before she heard Palmer curse under her breath. "We'll be ready for whatever you need of us, ma'am. Are we expecting to leave any forces behind for counterboarding?"

"If we have to leave the ship, all available Spartan fireteams are expected to be going. We're the tip of the spear. We have shielding, heavy armor, and we can take a hit and give one right back better than any other combatant force on this ship. Marine and ODST forces will remain here, and any additional firepower needed on the ground can be deployed from their bases as fast, if not faster, than deploying an equivalent sized force from Infinity, especially if she's engaged." She stopped to lick her lips, stepping into one of the elevators that would take her down to S Deck. "Pack heavy. Standard kit won't cut it if we have to punch into a Forerunner battleship. Assign one person to rocket duty, have another wearing load bearing gear to put reloads in. At least one medium machine gun per squad, with double standard ammo load. If we go in there, I'll be damned if we get surprised by another one of those big bastards that nearly broke into the bridge on Requiem, and who knows what else they have."

Several status lights winked before going back to solid green. They were relaying orders even while she gave them, likely having their squadmates patched in to transmit the orders down to their individual squads while the commanders dealt with the big picture.

Charlie Company's commander, Spartan James Holter, broke in then. "What about the aviation squads?"

She paused for a moment. All Spartans were capable ground combatants, with the ability to outdo even the best of the Marines and ODSTs regardless of specialization, but some were assigned specific duties. Helen Castille, in her own squad, was a powerful force in close combat, but her medical background meant she was able to easily shift gears and become a rapid reaction combat medic capable of fighting her way to downed allies and begin treatment, no matter how heavy the fire was. Just as much, all Spartans were trained in the operation of every vehicle in the UNSC arsenal, up to light frigates in a pinch. This meant that several Spartan squads were assigned individual Broadsword fighters to allow a Spartan presence to take to the skies and let their augmented bodies fill the roles of aces when things were a little too hot for the rest of the UNSC's birds.

"Break them away, have them pre-flight their birds themselves, heavy anti-fighter ordnance. If we have to go external, I want the best we have escorting. If it comes to that, I'll be taking overall squadron lead. August will have control of Crown and overall ground command while establishing a foothold, and once I've returned to the ground, I'll move in and take over again."

"Understood."

She bit the inside of her cheek. Everything was happening so fast, and the odds were so far skewed against them that she wondered if it would make a difference. "Anything else, keep it close at hand, make whatever preparations you need in particular, and release weapons authority to individual fireteam leaders. I have a feeling we'll need every one of us on the ground before it's all over."

With the elevator opening, she broke into a run, wanting to get to the rigging area to ensure that there were no problems. The different commanders cut out of the channel and starting preparing themselves and their squads, while Crown stayed active. August broke the new silence. "Orders, ma'am?"

She broke into the rigging area, taking the stairs up to her office two or three at a time, the door to the main balcony area and overwatch room opening and revealing Crown was already in place. August looked back at her, his helmet off with an eyebrow raised. "You made good time."

She let the faintest of smiles show through, before she squashed it and took her helmet off, hooking it on her belt. "I always do. Orders are the same as what I just gave. Get weapons and ammo, be ready for combat at any moment between now and whatever conclusion this whole thing has." Even as she spoke, the ship rumbled beneath her boots, and they all looked down at the floor. Infinity had just fired the opening salvo of whatever this battle was. "Get to it, Spartans." Even while her four squadmates started moving, she put her helmet back on quickly to call to Lasky. "Captain, what just happened?"

She heard an alarm blaring on the other end of the channel. "Near miss, looked like a scaled up version of those rifles their infantry have. Shields are holding. We lobbed a few of the mini-MAC rounds at them but it didn't do a damn thing. We're remaining at stand-off distances for now."

"Understood, any change in situation?"

"Unconfirmed, but we're reading multiple radar pings from the other ship, sized to be something like single ship fighters, possibly transports. Some of them are vectoring towards us, others are heading for the planet. Whatever they're doing, I don't like it."

"We're still arming up. Is the CAP flight engaging?"

"Negative, they're- Weapons! Push more power to point defense, ready anti-fighter volley cannons! Get Battlegroup Dakota to move into formation around us!" He cursed as he came back to her. "They're about to step into the fight. Whatever gets through the point defense and the hurricane of frag-shot we're sending at them, the air wing will try and stop the rest, then additional ships will add their firepower to the mix."

She bit her cheek, even as August came back into the room, a shotgun in one hand and two boxes of shells in the other. He set them on the table. "She's loaded."

Morgan nodded at him in thanks. "Anything else?"

On the other end, Lasky paused. "You'll know in a minute. We're about to hit them with one of our Series-8 shots. If that manages to break the shields and get through the hull, then we'll vector for boarding ops. If not, you'll go to ground and intercept whatever makes it down. No other Spartan contingent in range has the numbers we do, and the ones that do are too far to respond in time."

"Yes, sir. I'll be ready whenever you call."

"You won't be waiting long. Lasky out."

She turned back to her squad, all of them loading weapons and continuing to give orders in the confines of their helmets. "Invasion forces inbound towards the surface, unknown number. If the Infinity can punch through that monster's shields, we'll be going there. If not, defensive ground engagement. Relay."

August was already on it as she grabbed her shotgun and ensured it was loaded and ready. The glint of brass in the chamber was a welcome sight, and she moved it to the mag lock on her back, loading shotgun shells into the ammunition pouches on her armor's hips and belt line. When it was all done, she watched the rest of her squad for a few moments, frowning.

Opening a new channel, she hesitated before pushing the call through, the person on the other end responding almost immediately, the sounds of yelling and heavy machinery filling the call, the woman having to yell to be heard.

"Commander? What do you have for me?"

Morgan's frown deepened as she heard her wife's voice, not bothering to correct with her new rank. Both of them would be integral to the next phase of their operations. Morgan would be flying escort, and Amber would be the escortee, as well as the other pilots and their Spartan passengers. "I wanted to hear your voice again."

Amber was silent for a moment, before she went on. "That bad, huh?"

She almost wanted to smile at that, always liking her wife's tendencies to get right to the point. "That bad, Hocus. What do you know?"

"Chiefs all have a fire lit under everybody's asses to get as many birds up and running as possible. Got a short brief that wasn't much other than be ready for transport ops."

"Well whatever tricks you have in that hat of yours, you're gonna need all of them this time."

A whistle came from the helmet's speakers, and Amber shook her head on the other end. "You sure know how to motivate a girl, dont'cha?"

"You know I'd be better if there was a better way of saying it."

"I know, but still."

Morgan felt the ship rumble again, this time heavily as the Series-8 in the bow was fired and the shell was accelerated to a significant percentage of the speed of light. "Listen, Amber. I need you to be ready, alright? No bravado, no tricks, just the best you have."

Her wife's voice on the other end seemed to sober up, and her response was immediate. "I'll do my best. You make sure you do too, because if things are this bad, then we'll all need to be running at a hundred and ten."

Morgan nodded to herself. "Exactly. I'll find out whatever we're about to do and send you a message immediately, so be ready."

"Yes ma'am. Hocus out."

"Wait!" Morgan nearly reached out, as if she could physically stop Amber from cutting the channel.

"Ma'am?" Amber's response was curious.

Morgan didn't say it as often as she wanted to, even after so many years. It was something she had always wanted to change. "I love you."

"I love you too, Morgan. I'll see you when we're both back, I promise."

Satisfied, Morgan nodded. "I'll hold you to it then. Crown out."

With a few of her fears alleviated, she cut the channel, and another came through almost immediately. It was Lasky.

"Morgan here, what's the plan?"

Lasky responded immediately. "Negative penetration, EM scans indicate that whatever those shields have are too strong at this range, lost barely a portion of their strength and we can't get into a slugging match. You and your Spartans are going to ground."

"Understood. We'll start loading, flight ops will be in your ear the instant we start deploying."

"Right. Lasky out."

With merely a thought, her armor read the neural lace and sent a message to Amber, informing her of their ground destination. Crown came after. "We're heading for Earth. Get the orders out, and get the aviation detachment to their birds. I'll meet them there. Rest of you… good luck."

August nodded, speaking for the rest of them. "Good luck, ma'am."

There was nothing else left to say as she turned and left at a run, moving for the hangar bay where something she hadn't expected to really use again lay in wait, ready to come out of retirement and do whatever its pilot demanded of it.

On the hangar bay floor, Broadsword fighters, Pelican transports and gunships, Longsword fighter-bombers, and Shortsword attack aircraft sat waiting, in various states of readiness and armament. Crews from both the hangar and the multitude of frames were swarming about like a hive of ants, attempting to get weapons onboard, get engines spooled up and mission data programmed, and in one case, to finish tuning some new toys.

As Morgan set eyes on it, she felt a sense of familiarity that had come when she last saw it at the end of the war. Her YSS-1000 Sabre sat quietly, the aggressive features making her feel more comfortable, knowing how intimidating of a visage it had. The crew chief was already on his way over as he spotted her.

"Ma'am," he started off, gesturing to the aircraft. "We've got her ready to fly. Been tinkering with her since she got here and we've made a few adjustments to her that I think you'll love."

Looking down at him, she raised an eyebrow, the motion hidden by her helmet. "Like what, chief?"

He moved around to the rear, avoiding the section where an ammunition linkage system was loading heavy ammunition into the 30mm cannons. The thruster nozzles on both the outboard wing mounted engines and the main engines in the rear of the frame had been changed, losing the 'feathering' that had covered them before, and had been replaced by a set of three large flaps on the top, bottom left, and bottom right sides.

"She's got thrust vectoring nozzles now. They didn't add them on account of the original purpose being pure speed and weapons capacity. Space superiority, but only in the context of anti-ship attacks. Just like how it uses its maneuvering thrusters for each axis of movement, the flight control system will accommodate any maneuvers you make and keep you in control no matter how rough you are with her. Gotta warn you though, she's likely gonna be nasty in a turn, and it's possible even a Spartan might black out with the amount of G's our sim reported with the thrust vectoring capability."

Morgan looked over it with a low whistle. "Hopefully I won't have to find out today. What else?"

"Mostly smaller changes, things like updating the system to the new block 30 software the Broadswords are using right off the production lines. Capability to mount modern armaments is there too. Thought of modernizing it further but we don't have a secondary hull to work on as a test bed." He pointed back to the cockpit. "Read the dossier on it and prior usage on your records that you let me take a look at. Decided to remove the back seat, but left the hardware intact. We can always put one back in, and it'll be good to go, but thought you might prefer to have extra storage space since you don't seem to need a WSO to fly it, given your armor syncs up to the system with the magnetic field detector system and the onboard datalink." He paused, scratching his jaw. "One more thing."

Another gesture and he walked up to the nose. Underneath the canopy railing, right where her seat was located, art had been painted onto the right side of the nose. On it, a woman was painted on, wearing what looked to be a bikini, an old cavalry sabre in one hand and a Medusa missile in the other, a crown sitting lopsided on her head as she smirked at whoever laid eyes on her. Morgan glanced at the chief, who looked at her with a sense of smugness, since he couldn't see the raised eyebrow behind her visor.

She cleared her throat, gesturing to it. "Your leadership know you did this?"

His smugness deflated a bit as he realized she wasn't entirely enthusiastic, as he and his crew had been. "Well, no, but…"

"You think they'll mind it?"

More deflation. "Maybe, maybe not. We can remove it, if you'd like, Commander."

Her rank update hadn't traveled through the chain of command just yet. "Leave her where she is, chief, but if someone spots it and demands it be removed, it won't look too great if I ask to keep her on the bird… but I appreciate the customization."

He gave her a nod. "Yes, ma'am. I'll keep her looking pretty for you as long as I can."

"Good man. How long until she's loaded and ready to fly?"

"She's good to go right now. Last minute fueling prep and another test of the fly-by-light system and you're ready to get in the black. Orders already came down for tasking."

"Good. Run them as quick as you can without cutting any corners."

"Yes, ma'am."

She watched him give his orders, one of his crew climbing into the front seat and running the checks there. Control surfaces started to actuate on each axis and direction, while the thrust vectoring nozzles hissed and twitched as if they were under full acceleration. The FBL checks wouldn't take long, a few more tests and the Sabre would be ready to take to the stars again for the first time in years.

A comm channel opened from Lasky, his voice coming through immediately. "Captain! New signature just popped up and we got a hail from it! It's inside of the Forerunner ship's shields!"

What? She frowned. "Say again? Inside the shields?"

"Affirmative. It's him, Morgan. It's the Chief."

She felt the shock of the message go through her body, and she almost didn't believe it. "What's his status?"

"He's navigating for something Cortana called the 'Composer.' She says that it's their primary target, and the Didact is right next to it. If they can get inside the hull, then they can deal with it and maybe even him, but they're on their own. Scans she's pushing through their Broadsword's data link indicate that the ship is constantly reshaping its armor and the shields can't be taken down enough for us to break through entirely. Boarding is non-viable."

He was on his own. There would be no way for her to get in even if she wanted to, and she cursed, unable to keep it inside. "Then what can we do? What can Infinity do to support?"

"All we can do right now is close the distance and hope he disables point defense, then we'll shunt everything into a Series-8 strike, punch a hole just big enough for him to go interior, and then it's all up to him."

"Did he say how he plans to destroy something that big?"

Lasky was slow to respond. "Havok-grade payload, man portable."

He didn't say anything else, and Morgan's blood froze in her veins. If he failed, he would be killed one way or another. If he succeeded… he would still be killed in the detonation. She had been right down in the bowels of Bravo-6, but she hadn't known it would be like this. He was alone, ready to assault a Forerunner ship on his own, knowing exactly what the outcome would bring even in the best case. It hurt her. She had sent him on this mission, and even though it had been his idea, she still had a part in it. She was killing her friend.

"Captain?"

She was shaken from her thoughts, her voice unsteady. "Understood, Lasky. Deployment preparation is nearly complete. Estimate 15 before we're all out and heading for the surface."

"CAG Boss has let me know already. Good luck out there. And Morgan?"

"Sir?"

"Don't worry about the Chief. He'll get it done."

"I know he will." She cut the channel. Lasky's words, intended to be comforting, had only made her feel worse.

Spartans rushed into the bay a squad at a time, going for independent Pelicans. Some split off from each other, running to Broadswords that had been set aside and loaded with mixed loadouts. Pelicans spooled up to a powerful whine. Gunship variants had crew check them over before piling into them, the weapons moving on powered turrets and preparing for take off to support ground element. Past that, she could see a pair of AC-220 Vulture heavy gunships spooling up, their heavy ventral thrusters roaring and sending hot air across the deck before jet blast deflectors came up and redirected it all up into a series of vents that came online to suck the superheated air out of the deck and back into the climate control center for processing and cooling. They were slow, so they'd be leaving immediately, attempting to make as much progress as they could before the rest of the strike force got to the ground.

Crown was one of the last teams to show up in the bay. August led them in, his imposing stature painting a picture that reminded her of how big Jorge had been. She looked over at them, and August glanced over his shoulder at the rest, nodding toward the Pelican they'd be in. They split off, and he came to her.

"We're the last of them. Soon as we button up, we can start getting out there. Any new orders?"

She looked up at him, frowning. "No. Briefing for ground force will come en route. Deployment zones will be assigned by operators on Infinity. Landing zones are expected to be near Tucson, Arizona, URNA. There's a facility in New Phoenix that's sending a distress call as well, a few squads in Charlie will be diverted there to supplement the Marine garrison. Rest of you will spread out from your landing area and work your way in towards New Phoenix, clear it out as you go."

He shifted a bit. "Ma'am, that's a lot of ground for us to cover."

She almost smiled at that. "What do Spartans do when there's trouble, Paul?"

"We run towards it," he replied.

"Yes, you do. Monsoon will vector from the ship as your primary combat controller, but with no new orders, head towards the sound of fighting. Always. It's what we do."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

If you meet up with another fireteam, you can figure out where to go from there until Monsoon changes it." Another nod, and she went on. "Above all else, be careful. You're Spartans, but you're not infallible."

That gave him pause. August had always been calm and collected, and her observations of Crown in Wargames scenarios prior to her showdown with Vegas that day had showed him as a commanding presence in more than just stature. During the war, he'd been an ODST weapons specialist, already a monster of a man even before the augmentations turned him into a behemoth capable of doing something even few Spartans could do; at one point wielding two SAWs under his arms and firing them like a mobile weapons platform, and while not exactly viable, it was possible in a pinch. His ATLAS armor was rugged and reliable, allowing him to sit in cover and take hits, suppressing whatever came, but if needed, he would be her shadow when she stormed into the thick of it, ready to finish tearing apart whatever her shotgun didn't. More than once, he'd survived wounds that would've killed other men, and had completed the mission always. She was more than lucky she'd gotten his skillset when she'd come aboard, and more than just a valuable ally, he had become her friend, introducing her to other hobbies while she'd been aboard, before everything had gone to shit. He'd even taught her how to box, but she was still learning on that front.

Before he could respond, she heard the warning alarm that indicated the deck was transitioning to launch configuration, nonessential crews moving to specially marked areas to protect themselves from hot jetwash and to get them out of the way of recovery and launch lanes. Looking back at him, she jerked her head towards the bird Crown had gone to. "Get to your bird, Spartan. We're out of time."

"Good luck, Morgan. Don't let us get cooked down there."

"Not on your life, big man."

He jogged off, disappearing into the bay as it sealed shut. Morgan climbed into her Sabre, the canopy sliding back and sealing with the cockpit railing, and her seat sliding forward on its rails. The battery was already started, primary and secondary generators running. A hiss as the electrical power was disconnected, and the Sabre hummed with its own power. The engines were fed as the primary reactor came online, and they started to roar with power, from the outboard engines out to the primary engines, a haze of heat occluding the area behind the big fighter. The HUD came online, and the displays on her dash came next, updated from the original Sabre's software to something more modern that the Broadsword used.

She had trained on the Broadsword simulators a few times on their initial slipspace journey, most of the actions familiar with a new look. Weapons were armed, datalinks primed, IFF activated, and comms channels were synced. Primary was flight ops, where she'd get her orders. Secondary was the Broadsword flight leads. Tertiary was the Pelican force that was carrying the majority of Infinity's Spartan compliment to the ground.

Just like how things had happened on the Forward Unto Dawn over the Ark all those years ago, magnetic clamps came down from the ceiling on tracks, picking up any airframes not in the launch corridors and holding them aloft where spaces were taken, or slotting them into empty areas. Morgan's Sabre was picked up and moved into place near the front of one of the corridors, a crew member quickly coming over and ensuring that the launch bar on her nose landing gear was set up. A moment passed, a loud thunk rattled the ship, and suddenly it pitched up slightly.

The crewman scampered off back to his jet blast deflector, hunkering down and putting both hands up with thumbs up signals. Morgan looked back to her displays, activating the comms for flight ops. "Ops, Crown Actual. Standing by on the cat. Advise when ready."

A deep voice came through, one that she hadn't heard since the last time she'd been in the Sabre. "Didn't think I'd ever see you in a bird again, Noble."

Her brain took a second to give up. "Caesar? That you?"

The man that had been Lieutenant Marcus Gibson, Ranger flight's leader during the battle over the Ark, responded with a bit of amusement in his voice. "Affirm, ma'am. Working a squadron on this big girl for a bit now, but not taking part in this drop with you, so I thought I'd make myself useful. Friendly face and all that."

"I'll take all the help I can get for this one."

"Happy to give it if you need it. You still rocking Noble for this flight, ma'am?"

"Negative, Caesar. Noble retired when the war ended. New callsign now is Crown."

"I'll make a note of it. I'll be your point of contact for this mission, got a line directly to the CAG, couple of additional Broadswords are being loaded up with more mixed munitions, ready for support when you call it. Your Spartans have priority tasking on the ground. If you need more birds launched, say the word and you'll get what you need."

"Much appreciated." Ahead of her, three Broadswords sat in line, one of them pushing its throttle to max and shaking for a moment as the thrust tried to push it out of its housing on the catapult track. A few moments passed, and it was released, launching forward and out into the stars. Three more catapult tracks to her left were doing similar operations, and with each new ship launched out of the hangar, the track would advance forward, the next ship in line repeating the procedure.

As she lined up in the forward most spot, she watched her display, the software running her through the steps. Pull up the hook on the nose gear, take tension. When she flipped the switch, the Sabre shuddered as it tried to pull up the nose gear's hook, and was locked into place. Push throttle to military power, zero controls. She eased the throttle forward until it was at the gate between military and max. The pedals worked under her feet, and she pushed the stick around in a circle twice, making sure nothing was failing. Advance to max power, signal to shooter. Pushing the throttle all the way forward, the Sabre started to shake more violently than before, the nose dipping ever so slightly as it strained against the catapult mechanism. Looking to her right, she could see a single crewman in a bubble on the deck, looking at her with both hands up.

Bringing her hand up to her visor, she gave the shooter a quick salute, and watched as his right hand dropped out of view quickly, and then came back up. A second later, and she looked back ahead just in time for the Sabre to push her back against her seat with the force that only a catapult shot could do. Another second and she was outside of the ship, pulling to the right and linking up with the three Broadswords that had been ahead of her in an orbit just off of Infinity's left side.

Ships were launching four at a time, comprised of Pelicans and the rest of their Broadsword escorts. She keyed her comm to Caesar again. "Caesar, Crown is in the black. Do I have you all to myself for this mission?"

"Yes ma'am, you do. Status is noted, lighting up your beacon. Rest of the Broadswords should be vectoring in on you as soon as they launch. Pelicans will be standing off in the shadow of the ship, just in case anything tries to come at you before you're on your way and picking up speed."

"Understood. Estimated time until all birds are up?"

"Just a moment… looks like there's still a couple of stragglers from both parties. At this rate, three minutes, max."

A glance down at her datalink showing who was and wasn't airborne, and she went back to him. "Copy all. Switching to channel twelve to link up with flight leads."

"I'll be eavesdropping if you need me."

Switching back to her secondary net, she called in to those airborne. "All transport aircraft standby for space to ground transit. Three minutes to step off, five more to the atmosphere, two to dirt. Leads sound off as you enter the bubble."

The Pelicans called in first, a string of voices that let her know who was listening and who wasn't.

"Titan flight checking in."

"Goblin flight checking in."

"Knight flight checking in."

Another voice that she knew well came on last, and she hung on the words as Hocus responded, her accent standing out. "Wizard flight, checking in."

Morgan carried on without dwelling on her wife's voice. "Pelican flight leads established, update state via datalink when all birds are up. Broadswords sound off."

The Broadsword pilots would be maintaining the same names as their fireteams, and each Spartan flight lead responded quickly.

"Jackhammer checking in."

"Tsunami checking in."

" Raven checking in."

Satisfied with the check in progress, Morgan settled into the seat, flexing her fingers on the stick and throttle. "All Broadswords established. Set operational stance Able Sentry, set navigation mode for reentry."

The Broadswords and Pelicans started shifting into place, a choreographed dance of ships sliding past one another in the zero gravity void as the Broadswords took the lead and scattered around the Pelicans in the center. Morgan slid into place at the head of the formation, her Sabre looking out of place among the most modern designs the UNSC had. It was a shadow of the war, and so was the woman piloting it.

Stragglers flitted into place quickly, and all ships were accounted for. Keying her comm again, she was speaking to Caesar. "All birds are up, beginning transit."

"Roger, Crown. I'll keep you appraised on the fight up here. Caesar out."

In the skies over Arizona in the United Republic of North America, a swarm of fireballs were hurtling toward the ground, painting long trails of flame behind them as they pushed through the atmosphere at speed. Dropping from orbit was no easy task, and no chatter was on any net as all of the pilots put all of their focus on surviving reentry, something that could always go wrong if they let it get away from them.

Helljumpers might go feet first into Hell, but the UNSC's pilots rode the dragon all the way down.

The first fireball started to change trajectory, the rest following it closely as a mixture of friction and thicker air slowed down the Sabre, the flame licking at it and dying down as Morgan continued to slow the fighter. Dropping through hypersonic, down to supersonic, and finally, into subsonic, a cloud of vapor passed over the Sabre from the rear and moved forward as it slowed further, multiple sonic booms sounding and rolling across the arid desert two hundred miles south of New Phoenix.

A quick glance at her data link showed no birds had been lost, nor any non-green status lights indicating failures. All of them heard her voice as she gave her first orders of the battle. "Pelican flights, your drop zones are marked. The fighters will sweep ahead and check for anything that might impede landing. As soon as you're clear, circle east toward Joint Spaceport Leonard Haywood and refuel, start bringing in Marine forces and vehicles."

All of her Pelican leads squawked confirmation. They had their orders. The Broadswords would have theirs.

"Broadswords, you're on me. Go offensive spread, activate ground scanners, ready datalinks for transmission to Infinity. Pass over at best speed, head back at five miles and prepare to receive tasking."

More green lights winked, and she pushed her throttle forward as the Broadswords spread out in a long line abreast, weapons armed and ground scanning radar activated. Optical and thermal sensors embedded in the belly were already marking landmarks and making a map of the area, updating the onboard navigation database with information that was up to date to the second, rather than minutes or hours.

With the combat aircraft accelerating back into the transonic bubble, another series of sonic booms was sent out across the wide open terrain. Tucson was only a minute out, and New Phoenix a few more minutes past that. They'd get plenty of intel before the Pelicans even started their drops.

Passing over Tucson, the fighters entered a slow, sweeping left turn to the northwest, and Morgan watched as data from each fighter swarmed into her system. Multiple threat assessments by onboard AI subroutines were brought into play. Dozens of signatures matching that of known Forerunner constructs, but whatever had brought them here had bugged the hell out.

New Phoenix was packed with signatures, though, all of them spreading out from the area where the distress beacon was sounding. Even from above, she could see the harsh orange glow of Forerunner weapons discharging, and a moment later, she saw something coming right at her.

"Break! Ground fire!" Each Broadsword went evasive, diving or climbing as they twisted through the sky and continued on in the same general direction. Immediately, she sent word back to the rest. "New Phoenix is hot, Forerunner signatures numbering in the hundreds, facility being overrun. Ground fire to be expected, terrain mask or use buildings as cover on your way in. Tucson less intense. Yokai, say status."

One of the pilots from the two Vultures that had gone out with them responded quickly. "Yokai, on station, 10 miles south of Tucson. Where do you want us, ma'am?"

"Shift priority to New Phoenix. You're gonna be close air support for the beacon's facility, clear out some of the constructs outside and make a landing zone for the Pelicans. As soon as they're off, you're free to prosecute targets as needed, but be wary of more ground fire."

"Yokai moving to prosecute, ETA 15 minutes."

The channel cut, and by now, they had passed the five mile mark. Turning back around, all of the Broadswords mirrored her perfectly, and they started their second run back through, climbing before inverting and going in one by one, strafing the ground outside of the facility's gates on anything that was big, silver, and glowing orange.

Morgan didn't participate in the attack run, watching as twin geysers of dirt, fire, debris, and whatever they hit was sent up. Keen eyes saw more than a few Forerunner Knights get toasted. She reached back out to Caesar. "Caesar, Crown. We're committed. Status of the facility?"

"Standby, Crown." He cut out, and was gone for almost a full minute before coming back. "Update: facility is being overrun, multiple slipspace portals have opened inside of and around the facility, Covenant Remnant and Forerunner constructs reported emerging from these portals."

Morgan cursed. "Understood, I'll ensure that squads start their trek in soon." Switching channels, she called out to the two Pelican flights that had been assigned to New Phoenix after the situation had been updated on their initial flight in. "Wizard, Goblin, pick up the pace. Facility is considered priority one. Unload your Spartans as soon as possible and bug out. Thinned the herd, but ground fire is only gonna get worse in the time it takes for us to reorient for new runs."

Both Hocus and the other pilot responded with short, clipped affirmatives, her wife's familiar drawl settled into a level tone that was all business. "Aye, ma'am. ETA sub-five mike, four squads diverting."

One of the Broadswords finished its arcing turn and came back around in a shallow dive for one of the open streets where Marines on the ground had withdrawn. Red smoke was billowing from a pair of dropped smoke grenades, drifting in the wind. Morgan tuned into their channel as the Broadsword screamed under the lazy orbit she had made.

"-West of the smoke! Keep fire west of the smoke! Multiple large constructs advancing west to east!"

The Broadsword pilot was quick to respond. "I have visual."

"Roger, you're cleared hot!"

That was all that the Spartan at the controls needed. Augmented eyes picked out the small targets on the ground as if they were the size of a barn, their hand twitched ever so slightly and dipped one of the wings, adjusting their strafing path, and they pulled down on the trigger.

Two seconds of sustained cannon fire rattled out of the twin autocannons with a deep chatter, dirt and debris kicking up as the rounds impacts. Plenty of them missed, but that was too be expected. Precision wasn't what guns were used for. Saturating a small area on the ground was, and the tight circle that the rounds were splashing in was suddenly yanked to the west as the pilot pulled the stick again. Several Elites disappeared alongside one of the Knights as the rounds hit home.

Their advance was halted for a moment as they reoriented their attention on the fighter. Plasma bolts and hard light rose up after the Broadsword as it raised the nose and corkscrewed out of view behind one of the skyscrapers of New Phoenix's skyline. Before the first Broadsword's engines had faded, another was taking its place, getting the information from the Marine on the ground as they made their own run in.

Stragglers got through in the time between each run, and the Elites in charge must have decided it was suicide to stay out here. Instead of returning fire in cover, they charged, shields taking fire from the Marine garrison and flickering to life. Several were gunned down, and the Marines were holding their own, but now the noose was closing and the precious seconds between each run was leaving the Marines exposed.

Cursing, Morgan keyed her mic. "Marine JTAC, standby for missile barrage. Next Broadsword, level off and skip this run."

Both of them replied quickly, the JTAC sounding more than a little concerned at the rate the enemy forces were closing the hundred feet of open ground that made up the facility's main parking lot. A twitch of her hand to the left and the Sabre rolled onto its back before she pulled back on the stick. The positive Gs started loading on her as she grunted, thumbing the weapon select hat on her stick and selecting the Medusa missiles, and she lined up the targets below as close as she could.

Medusa missiles were missiles that required lock on to be precise, meant for anti-air combat, or if in the presence of a laser designator, it could lock on to those. Now, there was no designator, and she didn't trust anybody else to do something like this.

Dropping altitude fast from the 10,000 feet she had been sitting at, she pulled back on the throttle and made a few more adjustments, before pressing the trigger four times, putting in a little bit of yaw between each press.

Four missiles rocketed out of their housing, each one igniting their rocket motor and diving towards the ground. Elites and Knights continued to sprint forward, and some would reach the Marines, but the rest? They would have a bad day.

All four impacted within a second, the shockwaves of the explosions rolling across the parking lot and setting off several car alarms. Multiple enemy combatants were killed outright, and large holes were left in the asphalt below that would make continued advances tricky as they tried to maneuver around them. The ones that had gotten through were either thrown off balance or stunned by the concussive force of the explosions. Marines continued to hose them down, and Morgan pulled back on the stick again, sending the Sabre back into the sky on jets of flame as she pushed the throttle back to max.

All that she had just done, though, was for nothing. The JTAC came on the radio again, voice an octave higher than before with gunfire in the transmission. "They're coming from inside the facility! We're about to get sandwiched! Reque-" Whatever he was going to say was cut off with a choked sound and a dull thud as the round that hit him put an end to the Marine. Looking over her shoulder at the ground below, she saw the advancing enemy force meeting one coming out of the facility, the Marines being cut down as if they were nothing now that they had been flanked.

With a curse, she returned to her loitering orbit. "All Broadswords, wave off from the attack. Tsunami, return to Tucson, check in with Crown Two."

"Yes ma'am, Tsunami moving to BP Throne."

Switching back to Caesar, she didn't waste time waiting for a response. "Caesar, assume facility lost. Spartans on the ground in two mikes. Do you have contact with anybody inside?"

A pause. "...Negative Crown. Nothing going in or out except that beacon. Possible jamming in effect? Slipspace portal interfering with the interior's electronics? No clue."

"What about Tucson?"

"I've got another of my people in contact with Spartan August. Heavy contact in Tucson, says they've spotted at least two of those Leviathans you've encountered before, but they're making good progress."

"Good. Anything else?"

"No, I don't- Wait, new transmission. Reports… Crown Two reporting a triple-A battery just came online in a courtyard near where Shamrock touched down, nothing we've seen before but definitely Forerunner."

Her blood chilled and she immediately started transmitting on the other channel. "Tsunami, Triple-A expectant in your AO!"

"We're already seeing a hail of shots coming up at the Pelicans, one of them took a glancing hit, trailing black smoke. They're waving off. Orders?"

Caesar waited as Morgan went on, giving orders on the fly. "Wave off. Until one of the teams can get in there and bring it down, it's too risky to try and support. Only do runs when it's absolutely necessary."

"Tsunami copies."

Back to Caesar, she cursed again, looking back down at the ground below as if expecting another one to come online. "Is Infinity in position to provide thermal scans of the ground?"

"Negative, too much interference either way. We'll reach out to ODP Las Vegas and see what we can get, but don't expect too much, they just committed to the fight with that big ass battleship."

"Understood, Caesar. Get me anything the moment you know it. Crown out."

This wasn't just skirmishes like they'd experienced on Requiem. This was turning into a full on war zone. Even now, she could still see people fleeing on the ground, carrying their belongings in hand. The enemy forces weren't looking at them, only having eyes for the facility and its contents. Collateral damage was always a risk, especially given they were in downtown New Phoenix at the height of the afternoon rush hour. Cars covered the roads, and people had started booking it as soon as the Broadsword flight had made their pass overhead. Memories of the war were still fresh years later, and they knew the drill by now.

Another voice filled her ear. "Wizard flight, on approach. Touchdown two hundred meters south of main entry point."

Goblin's lead was immediately after. "Goblin flight, touching down one hundred meters west of main entry point."

Seconds passed as the Spartans on those Pelicans all rushed out, weapons up, orders barked. The opposing force had been stalled heavily by Marines and air support, but what they didn't know was that they were about to be boxed in by four fireteams of Spartans. By the time they knew what had hit them, it would be a blood bath. Engaging Spartans in close quarters was nigh on suicide.

Goblin was the first to lift off, taking to the sky with a wash of thruster fire, but Morgan didn't miss the sign of multiple streaks of hardlight rising up from the ground, filling the air with hundreds of tracers in only seconds. Goblin's pilots were able to respond quickly, on the opposite side of the facility from the anti-aircraft gun that had managed to come online.

But Wizard flight, still lifting off, was less lucky. One of the two Pelicans had been hit and was spewing smoke, the pilot trying to recover, only for one of the main thrusters to go out. It had risen about fifty meters off the ground, and when it rolled over, it went in hard, detonating in an explosion of fuel and ammunition. Nothing would be left inside of that.

When the next voice came on the channel, Morgan felt her heart seize up in a way it had never done before. "Mayday, mayday, mayday. Wizard One hit. Losing power and going in, three hundred meters to the north."

Amber Bailey's voice was level as she nursed her stricken bird down to the ground, covered in people, cars, and any other number of obstacles. She had flown birds with worse damage than this, had gotten her callsign for the magic she could work behind the stick, was more than capable of something like this.

But as the Pelican started to level out slightly, still dropping altitude, one of the rear thrusters went out, exploding in a way that sent the bird into a flat spin and shearing off a portion of the tail. Amber didn't have time to say any further status, working the thruster angling as hard as she could to shift back into VTOL mode. The sink rate was arrested, but the spin was not, and the last thing Morgan saw of her wife's Pelican was the sight of it spinning off out of sight behind a skyscraper, and then it was gone.

Time seemed to stop, and she was disbelieving as she waited for her wife's voice to come back through her earpiece. Thick black smoke poured out as the wind carried it away from the crash site, obscuring any sight of it even as Morgan attempted to get an eye on the downed bird from the sky. It was completely hidden by the smoke, and it had gone down in a parking lot. Debris was scattered in its wake as one of the wings had been ripped off, a trail of fire from a fuel leak, and who knew what else.

Something came from Morgan that eclipsed the anguish she'd felt when she'd lost Noble, even when she'd lost the Master Chief. Hammering her fist against the cockpit interior, she howled at the uncaring sky above.

Chapter Text

"May death claim me first."

"Ah, no my love. You cannot go first. I could not make sense of the world if you did."

- Sabaa Tahir, A Sky Beyond the Storm.

A war was raging in the streets of New Phoenix and Tucson, the Spartans of UNSC Infinity fighting as valiantly as those that had come before them against an unending tide of aliens and their mechanical compatriots. It was close, dirty, and like living life a second at a time. The Covenant Remnant and Forerunner Prometheans had fired on anything in range, cutting down people and vehicles, damaging buildings, and running amok in a way that Earth hadn't seen in years.

Fireteams of five Spartans at a time were swung with all the force of a hammer and the surgical precision of a scalpel, cutting to the heart of whatever stood in front of them in cold methodicalness before crushing it in their armored grips. They spread out like a swarm of angry hornets defending their hive. It wouldn't be the first time the continent had seen Murder Hornets.

Spartan Paul August, Crown Two, was receiving new information in a lull in the fighting after wiping out a group that had attempted to attack their command post. Without their leader on the ground, it had fallen to him to guide the fireteam and the ground battle in Tucson. Hunkered down behind a heavy barricade, he glanced at Helen Castille, her Scanner pattern armor's visor covered by the large scanner attachment. Designed for search and rescue, it had been adapted to provide medical readouts and the information she needed to stabilize whoever she came across, be it Spartan or civilian.

A squirt of biofoam and a foldable stabilizing splint finished healing the eight-year-old girl's broken leg, and Helen's words were a soothing presence in what was the most stressful moment of the girl's life so far. Tears streaked down her face, and while she was still terrified, at least her leg wasn't hurting anymore.

Marines in a Pelican had just touched down, and more were spreading across the city to support Spartan operations and act as a holding force if need be. A Warthog with an M41 chaingun fell from the mag locks, and the squad sent men into it before they set off at a jog, the Warthog rolling slowly behind them. The little girl was carried onto the Pelican for medical evacuation, and other people that had been sent to where fireteam Crown had established a command point and an evacuation station were loaded onboard as well until they were at maximum capacity.

August wanted nothing more than to join the fight himself, but he knew he was better here, protecting those that couldn't protect themselves, protecting his squadmates while they did the important job of stabilizing these people. He was the wall that the Remnant and Prometheans would break against.

With the girl gone, Castille's scanner went up, and she frowned behind her helmet. She wanted to get out there just as much as August did, but she knew her place. She started to say something. "I think that's the-"

She was interrupted by a warning that the rest of them got, but she was seeing far more than they did as her scanner dropped back in front of her face. The squad roster had just pinged Crown One as almost going cardiac. Her heart rate had gone from what might have been a skipped beat to a spiking pulse, doubling their usual. Her blood pressure went through the roof. Adrenaline and cortisol levels rose abruptly. Helen had only had an instant to look it over before a blood curdling howl filled their net, and Spartans across the battlefield witnessed it at the same time.

One of their own had been wounded in a way that not even their superhuman bodies could stop, and there would be blood flowing in rivers before the Spartan was done.

A hundred miles to the northwest of where Crown was watching the signals her armor was sending out, Morgan was entering what most would call a fight or flight response, but there would be no flight for her. There was a single thing on her mind at that moment: Making it to the crash site.

Her throat was raw as another scream ripped it's way through her and into her helmet. Her eyes were dark as the pupils dilated completely, her skin paled, her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest.

She didn't hear the calls from Caesar, didn't hear the Broadsword pilots, and didn't hear Castille calling to her. Proximity warnings flooded the cockpit as the Sabre dropped through five thousand feet, twenty-five-hundred, a thousand. The radar altimeter screeched and the onboard warning system incessantly repeated its order. Pull up. Pull up. Altitude. Altitude. It fell on deaf ears as the Sabre kept going down towards a stretch of empty road, the throttle pulled back and the speedbrakes out.

And then everybody within a mile heard the ear splitting sound of metal on asphalt, the Sabre skittering across the road and slowing rapidly, spinning around counter clockwise with the canopy already popping off and slamming into a nearby building before bouncing off and landing on the asphalt a hundred feet from where the Sabre finally came to rest.

Any normal pilot would have punched out in such a situation, or if they had ridden it down, would be in a world of hurt right about now. But Morgan Bailey was no normal pilot, and as far as anybody knew, Morgan Bailey had been put in the backseat, rational thoughts and command presence gone in the face of a nightmare come to life. Neither of those things had a place here.

Morgan-B312 had been let back out of her box, and she had stepped up to the brink and dived over the edge.

A blue armored figure clutching a shotgun in both hands was out of the stricken Sabre before it fully stopped, armored boots thundering across the asphalt at a speed that only Spartans could attain. Legs were a blur, arms pumping as the shotgun went to her back.

Cars and the bodies of civilians were barely even obstacles. Morgan hurtled up and over them, faster than any Olympian had ever moved. Entire blocks went by in an instant to the tunnel visioned woman, and she saw the black smoke rising up and out of a street ahead, only a few hundred meters away.

Plasma fire came from an alley ahead, a woman running out and looking back behind her before she took a hit to the head and went down without a sound, skidding across the ground for a moment before coming to rest. It didn't make her slow down.

She still didn't slow down whenever the Elite that had killed the woman wandered out of the alley, ears picking up the sound of her boots on the ground. He only had time to spread his mandibles in surprise and bring his plasma rifle up before Morgan was on him.

Her right hand was up and cocked, and as she closed on the Elite at almost 50 kilometers per hour, she used all her strength to slam it forward. A half ton of augmented human, muscle, and grief came together with the Elite's head in a way that spun the Elite's head around 180 degrees, the alien body dropped to the ground just as its most recent victim had done.

And still Morgan did not stop.

She was closing on the wreck of the Pelican now, her heart racing, blood in her ears like a constant stream of drums. Fire was dancing across the ground, flickering as the fuel it had been ignited on was burned away. Smoke poured from the wreckage of the downed Pelican, flowing out of the bay and a section where fuel was still leaking from the frame like blood on a wounded animal.

Finally, she slowed down, diving into the damaged bay and making for the cockpit door. Opening it, she slipped in, closing it behind her to prevent any more smoke from coming in, something that would have been impossible in one of gunship variants with the twin bubble canopy rather than the traditional cockpit.

The windscreen was smashed completely, shards of glass spilled across the floor. Displays were destroyed, the twin control stations sparking with remnants of electricity. The co-pilot was slumped in their seat, red spreading across their back from a small point that was poking through. Whether they were alive or not, Morgan wouldn't know yet, her first instinct being to check the pilot.

To see if her wife was dead or not.

Immediately, Morgan's hand went to her neck, the sensors in the gloves detected a faint but consistent pulse. A weight lifted off of the Spartan, and she started running her fingers gently around Amber's neck, checking for damaged bones, and finding none, before doing the same to her back.

Gently, Morgan lifted the slumped form back into the seat, and a glance at Amber's chest revealed that she hadn't been injured there, at least not that Morgan could see.

Her neck was clear of any blood, and her helmet had a nasty crack running through it, the visor showing a crack that jumped from the helmet to the visor, and halfway down the crack, the visor had split and a large piece had come off, revealing a nasty wound that was already bleeding heavily before dropping off of her chin. Pulling the helmet off, Morgan dropped it to get a better look at the wound. It was trailing down from two inches above her right eyebrow, skipping over her eye just barely, and continuing down her cheek and across her lips. It had likely been smashed when it impacted against her controls during the crash, a sizable dent in her pilot's console that was undoubtedly from the initial impact.

Morgan sighed explosively, feeling her hands trembling ever so slightly. Pulling Amber out of the pilots' seat and setting her on the cockpit floor, Morgan pulled a canister of biofoam from one of her waist pouches. Putting two fingers on Amber's right eye to cover it, she started to squirt biofoam on Amber's facial wound. It would anesthetize, sanitize, and cover the wound all at once and start distributing a coagulating agent and facilitating healing to prevent scar tissue.

She wanted to curse, being unable to see her direct vitals, like she would be able to with a Spartan. There wasn't any blood spreading anywhere across Amber's body, save for her face, but there was no telling what kind of internal injuries she had.

Finally, it was time to check the co-pilot, and she felt a pang of guilt, of self-loathing as she realized she hadn't been objective. She had barely even given the co-pilot a glance, terrified for her wife's well being.

A closer look at the blood spreading across their back, she saw that whatever had penetrated was somewhat shiny in what little light filtered through the cockpit. Lifting them up against the back of the seat, Morgan sighed again. A large piece of the cockpit glass had impaled them, and a glance up showed a large piece of a lightpole right up against the cockpit ceiling. It had been what destroyed the glass, or at least what glass hadn't been destroyed in the impact.

Whatever the case, they were gone, and Morgan grabbed their tags before returning to Amber, gently picking her up and walking back to the bay, one hand covering her mouth and nose for a moment until they were out of the smoke.

The blood thundering in her ears had stopped, tunnel vision had disappeared, she was still shaking slightly. All signs of her adrenaline having started to leave her behind. Swallowing, she keyed her comm.

"Crown Actual to any stations this net. Respond."

Her suit's long range radio should be strong enough to reach out to the Spartans in the facility, Goblin flight, or possibly even Yokai flight. There was no response, and she tried again, before a click replied with enough static to nearly drown out the person on the other end.

"Cr... ing by… ix mil… west. D… ad me?"

She knew it was a long shot, but had no other choices. "Last transmitter, signal one by five, please repeat."

There was nothing for a few moments, and she started to wonder if they'd even heard her, when a Vulture hovered overhead, heavy engines alight as they kept the big gunship floating.

The voice on the other end was loud and clear. "Crown Actual, this is Yokai One, we read you loud and clear. One of the Pelicans you just spoke with sent us your channel. What's your status?"

A whimper of relief escaped her. "Crown is green. Co-pilot KIA from crash of Wizard One, pilot wounded, state yellow-red."

"...Roger Crown. We're on two nets trying to sort it out. Knight Three is on the way here now, but they're gonna have to take the long way and fly NOE. Commander Gibson wants to know what happened with your bird, says it's still sending information across the datalink."

She bit her cheek. "Ditched."

"...Did you say ditched?"

"Yes, Yokai. Ditched."

The pilot seemed to hesitate. "...Uh... Roger that, ma'am. Relaying. Until that bird gets here, we'll cover you. Do you need extract?"

"Negative, only MEDEVAC. I'm still combat capable."

"Copy all, will transmit to all parties. Transmission to Infinity is being obstructed by something, we're on our own. Expect ten minutes for Knight to touch down."

"Understood, keep me appraised, pilot."

"Aye, ma'am."

Ten minutes. That was how long she'd be here, watching over her wife's unconscious form. The rushing of the Vulture's thrusters drifted a bit as it moved around in the sky above, twin autocannons moving on gimbal mounts, scanning for targets. They were both safe so long as Yokai was watching over them.

One of her hands came up to Amber's left cheek, gently cupping it in her hand and frowning. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster."

The words came out before she could stop them, speaking to someone who she only hoped could hear her. She tried to swallow around a large lump in her throat, but failed. She followed Amber's limbs down her flight suit, looking for anything else that might be wrong, and she winced and almost turned away when she saw that Amber's right hand had suffered an injury, her thumb sticking out in a not-normal direction.

It had been dislocated at the least, broken at worst, but she didn't see any bones sticking out or pushing against the skin. With care only a surgeon could have, Morgan reset Amber's thumb, and it held. Outside of Biofoam, there was nothing she could do, and even it wouldn't be effective for this.

Instead of dwelling too much, Morgan forced herself to continue checking for injuries, and she was startled at the sound of Yokai's autocannons firing off in the direction she had come from. She leveled her breathing as she called out to them. "Yokai, status."

"Couple of party crashers, stumbled upon some Elite that looks like he got hit by a damn freight train. Might have been his squad, since he looked alone. We've dealt with them, ma'am."

Relieved, if only a little, she nodded to herself. "Appreciate it. Out."

Back to checking for wounds. Hands ran up and down each arm and leg, her gloves giving her information as she did. No wetness, no open wounds, no bones struggling to break through. Her chest and abdomen were next, and still nothing.

It put her at ease on the surface, but there was no telling if there was internal bleeding or if it was anything severe. It bothered her. She had gotten here as fast as she could, had done everything in her power and now, she was left to wait for evac. It was agonizing deep inside.

But what could she do now? Nothing.

Instead, she just took her wife's hand, running her thumb over the back of it slowly, and eventually, the Pelican from Knight flight was heard in the distance, engines whining and echoing off of buildings before it came into sight and touched down, twisting to point the rear bay at her. A Marine squad ran out of the Pelican, weapons up and surrounding the two women. A medic was already unfolding a stretcher.

With the heat and sudden high gusts from the thrusters, two brown eyes cracked open, looking skyward for a few moments, before looking into a golden visor, locking on to green eyes that lay just behind.

Inside that helmet, Morgan almost gasped, her eyes widening, and she reached up with her free hand to rip her helmet off, to look into her wife's eyes without a visor between them. She smiled almost on instinct at seeing Amber's eyes again, and her voice was a little shaky.

"Hey, you. You uh… you took a pretty nasty hit there."

Amber blinked slowly, eyebrows knitting together. "Yeah…" She started to clear her throat and winced. "Fuck… head is splitting."

The Marines with the stretcher got on the other side of Amber from Morgan, and the big woman didn't stop them as they lifted Amber into the stretcher, but she never let go of Amber's hand. "You're being medevaced. Not to Infinity. Your fight's over, love."

Another groan from Amber. "I don't know if I ever wanna go back to another if this is what it feels like getting older." Another wince as her head seemed to bother her. Whatever that crash did to her, the concussion was something that over the counter meds weren't going to fix.

"Maybe that's for the best," Morgan admitted. "At least you're still pretty."

Amber started to laugh, but immediately winced again, and Morgan felt a slight pang as she did. "Shit, don't… make me laugh."

At that, Morgan's smile returned, a little stronger than before. Her helmet went to her belt, her free hand going to Amber's chest. "You'll be alright, they'll take care of you." Tapping Amber's chest gently, right where she knew her wedding ring was resting, Morgan's voice dropped into a whisper. "You keep this warm, alright? I'll want to see it again when I get back." Almost as if she was trying to fill the void that her wife's evac would leave, she kept going. "It'll be like I'm there with you, and I will be, as soon as I can."

Amber's eyes opened and brown met green. "I know you will. Now get out there and finish what you started, Spartan." Her words were hard, something Morgan hadn't expected, and she couldn't help but grin. Even with a recent crash under her belt, Hocus knew how to motivate her wife.

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave Amber's hand one more squeeze and looked to the Marine squad leader, the last man back onto the bird. Putting one massive armored hand on his shoulder, she stopped him with little effort. "Anything changes, relay to Commander Marcus Gibson on the Infinity. If anyone tries to stop you or say you can't go through them, reference Sierra-312 and tell them that it's important, and when I find out about it, I will come down on them so hard they'll wish they had been in that crash."

The Marine was startled, but nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I promise."

With that, she let him go, and stepped off the bird, leaving without looking back, because she knew if she looked back, she'd never want to turn away again.

Yokai continued to hover overhead, the two pilots watching as that mythical figure from the end of the Great War came back to the field in full, ready to remind the Covenant's remnants just why Spartans had been dubbed Demons in those long dark years.

The several hundred meters between her and the facility disappeared faster than it would have for any other person, and her shotgun was cradled in her hands like it was her child. The parking lot was covered in corpses and battle damage from the strafing runs, and she stooped at the body of a Marine wearing a large radio backpack.

This had been the JTAC she had been in contact with during the initial strikes. Frowning, she reached down, taking his weapon from his hands and pulling the magazines from his armored rig. "Sorry, Marine. I'll take a few for you." Sliding a new magazine home in the MA5D, she gave it a once over, worked the bolt a few times, checked the mag release, and finally tuned the smart link scope. It was already generating a crosshair on her HUD so she didn't need the smart link, but it was there just in case. Sliding it over her shoulder onto her back, she grabbed the few grenades he had and slotted them into her belt pouches.

The shotgun came back into her hands, and she took a moment. Inside, she could hear the distant whine of plasma weapons and the return fire from her Spartans echoing off of the walls. Occasionally, the deep thrum of a Forerunner weapon firing joined the rest. Tuning in to the fireteam net inside, she took a deep breath, remembering an old thing she had done when she knew things were about to go south. Something to let the combat high take hold, to let Spartan time kick in, to let the legend come back to life.

And just like that, Morgan-B312 had returned to her mind, and she entered the facility at a run, following the path of death and destruction that her fireteams had made for her.

The comm keyed up almost as soon as she was in. "All stations inside the facility, blue force entering main concourse. Crown One on the field."

The voice that came back belonged to none other than Spartan Sarah Palmer. "Aye, ma'am. We've left you a trail to follow, sending mapping information to you now."

When it came through a moment later, she saw that the plans of the entire base had been forwarded, rooms in orange marked as visited and cleared, and rooms in a dark color having not been seen. They had been making good time, just as she had expected from Vegas and the others that had gone through. Several rooms had been marked priority, and she made a note of them before the map shrunk and went to a corner of her HUD. "Palmer, status?"

"Green, ma'am. They're putting up a helluva fight. Got a few scientists reached us with the intercomm, say they need to get to a hot room and they can shut these portals off.. We do that and we can mop up quick. Otherwise, we're fighting a never ending horde of the bastards."

The sounds of combat grew louder as she closed on them, going through rooms that were filled with corpses, rivers of blood, and spent shell casings. "Babysitting or clearing a path?"

"Neither. They're locked in a safe room right now, and our guests are trying to beat their door down. We get there, clear the safe room, and they can access the hot room. Everything else is secondary, rest of the teams are on cleanup and keeping them from coming behind us."

"Understood. Moving up on your six now."

"Aye, ma'am. Contact received, got you on motion tracker. Damned good to have you with us instead of against us this time."

Morgan didn't miss the almost joking tone in her voice. "Show me you've improved, Palmer, and I won't have to wipe the floor with your team again."

The laugh that came back was at home even as hardlight and plasma passed around the cover Palmer hunkered behind. Morgan entered the room they were in, spotting all five members of Vegas in varying spots of cover. She slammed into place next to Palmer, behind a thick pillar. She didn't miss the looks the other Spartans gave her.

Holding two magnums up, the blue visor of Palmer's Scout helmet met Morgan's Mark VI. "Orders, ma'am?"

Morgan raised an eyebrow at that, even though it wasn't seen. "Orders? That's your job, Palmer. I'm just here as another Spartan."

The helmet twitched ever so slightly, before Palmer went on without missing a step. "Alright! You heard her, Vegas! Time to show the Commander why we're the high rollers on Infinity!"

Just like that, Morgan's presence and a few good words were all that was needed to put a shot of adrenaline in Vegas' arms.

The fire started to slack off, the enemy force seeming to wonder why none of the Spartans had poked their heads out in so long. Across from her, Morgan saw Spartan Manning, Vegas' pointman, hold up his shotgun and point at it. Morgan got the message, and responded with a nod. Taking her own shotgun in both hands, she ensured a shell was in the chamber, and nodded again. A flash of status lights was all that was needed.

Red. Yellow. Green.

Then the two Spartans were in motion, moving like a pair of blurs, one white, one blue. The fire intensified immediately and their shields flickered to life as plasma and hardlight splashed against them. It wouldn't stop them, nor slow them, and they pushed through to contact, just like Spartans always had.

Morgan was faster, her shotgun barrel coming up as she got within range of an Elite, and pulled the trigger. The buckshot made it through the shields and the Elite behind them ceased to exist as his chest turned into nothing more than ground meat.

That was for Hocus.

Morgan's blood heated the moment she thought about it, when that named passed through her mind again. The first firefight inside and she was already compromised. She had either been out of the game too long, or she'd become more emotional than she'd expected. What had she expected?

Another Elite fell to her left, energy sword ignited in hand, and it winked out with it's owner when Manning dropped him. Rifles chattered behind her with the dry couch of Palmer's magnums as Vegas started to suppress and support their breachers. The Elites remaining had fallen just as quickly as their compatriots, and a slew of Grunts started to turn tail and run. They didn't make it far.

The crack of O'hara's sniper rifle sent a round through the farthest Grunt's methane tank, holing it and causing an explosion that sent the rest of them on their backs. Then it was just mopping up, almost literally.

At the end of it all, she felt herself frown. She was no stranger to combat. Time on Requiem showed that much. Was it because of Hocus? That lack of focus? Would it be a driving force behind her fighting harder than she ever had, or would it be what got her killed?

With Vegas skirting around her in a combat glide, she realized she didn't know, and decided she'd do what she always did.

Wing it.

More firefights went as they had before, and Vegas' original mission had been sped up as they added Morgan's firepower and expertise to their group. They were all good, better than when they'd started, that was how IVs worked. They took a solid foundation and a lot less trauma and they built it up with the addition of their Spartan augmentations, but they were only a shadow of what the IIs and IIIs had been.

Better than any Marine squad by far, the IVs were like children compared to the lifetime of brutality and training that had been drilled into their forebears. Morgan's answer to the ONI handler that had pulled her out of Sapphire Point when she was a child had been that she wanted revenge. She remembered that much clearly. That revenge had been what made every Spartan III what they were, and they had honed it to a razor sharp edge.

The taste of her skills that Vegas had gotten along with their bloodied nose in that initial simulation between them and her was reinforced, and they realized now that Morgan had been everything her service record had said and more.

At least, that was true about the parts that hadn't been covered in black ink.

She and Manning were effectively a two man wrecking ball crew, and while the big man could fight better than any non-augmented human, he was clumsy compared to the dancer's grace with which Morgan flowed through combat, switching to a crude, heavy battering ram when she got within range of her targets.

Truly, a daughter Ares would be proud of.

Her visor glittered with a mixture of her shotgun's muzzle flash, her shield's flaring, and the slew of colors that came from enemy weaponry. She closed the distance as she always had, getting up close and personal, and just for an instant that she never truly caught on to, she felt a sense of satisfaction watching the light in her enemy's eyes fade.

Trauma never really healed, after all.

Another energy sword slid past her, and her elbow came up and over the Elite's arm in a flash, and Manning and the rest of Vegas watched and saw just how personal the IIIs had taken things where the IIs were mechanical and methodical, and the IVs colored by their experiences before their augmentations.

She clamped down on the arm, holding it tight, and twisted her body quick enough that the bones in the Elite's arm disintegrated. He had enough time for his mandibles to spread and his scream to start before the shotgun was shoved into the bottom of his mouth and then he was gone, along with most of his head.

She didn't miss a beat, letting go and snatching the energy sword's hilt from where it had fallen while slotting the shotgun onto her back. A pistol she had grabbed from a downed security forces Marine came off of her hip, and the sword lit up in the other. Grunts continued to try and reposition or even flee. Each one got a bullet to the head, and the ones that didn't were brought down by a withering hail of heavy slugs, falling all the same.

Another twist, like a ballerina spinning on pointed shoes, and Morgan's new toy carved through a Promethean that had teleported into the room, orange skull alight for but a second before it was cut nearly in half and the light faded before it disintegrated and fell away.

The Spartans of Vegas had been mostly in cover, years of doctrine and muscle memory teaching them ways to survive in a war before they had shields and Mjolnir. Morgan didn't have that same mindset, and while cover wasn't alien to her, she wasn't in the mood to use it.

Palmer gave her orders, and Vegas fired all around Morgan, her blue armor standing out against the stark gray walls and the harsh lights above. They would support her any way they could.

When the blood bath had concluded again, one in only a series of rises and falls in the combat tempo that they had settled into, the IVs rushed ahead, and Palmer stopped next to Morgan. She knocked on Morgan's shoulder armor, the woman's gold visor turning to her immediately. "You alright?"

Morgan frowned behind her visor. "I'm fine."

"You sure? You're fighting like you've got a death wish"

That got a snort from the captain, and Palmer had her own frown. "You've seen me in action, Palmer. You know how I fight."

Palmer's response wasn't believing. "This isn't how you fight. Up close and personal, sure, but it's almost like you're trying to get hit, or take all the fire. They can't shoot us and deal with you at the same time if you keep getting in their faces."

Of course they couldn't, but with Hocus having been knocked out of the sky, Morgan wasn't interested in losing any more of her men and women. She never wanted to. She looked away from Palmer. "We need to keep moving, Spartan."

Palmer's lips pursed, and she physically grabbed Morgan's armor and turned her back to be face to face, blue armor standing off against white, with Morgan being slightly taller, and her armor more imposing against the sleek Scout set. "You remember what you told me? About a life spent and a life wasted?"

Morgan could only nod.

"Well I'll be damned if I let you keep dancing around trying to get smoked like you're doing. I've seen you fight, I've seen your flow. This isn't it." Her voice had risen just a little, but the anger was there.

A moment passed, then another, and Palmer was about to say something else when Morgan beat her to it. "You're right." She replied, and Palmer almost kept going when she realized Morgan had agreed with her. "I'll tell you later, when we've gotten out of here and I know more about it. But until then I need you to trust me, and I need you to support me. Let me do the heavy lifting, and then we'll all go home."

The white armored Spartan's frown turned into a grimace. "I'll hold you to it. If you get wounded or killed while you're with Vegas, your wife will have my ass." She didn't miss Morgan's sudden minor twitch, something imperceptible to a normal person, but something that a Spartan would never miss. "It's her, isn't it? She was the one in Wizard One, wasn't she?" A nod. "Fuck…"

At that, Morgan's own hand went to Palmer's shoulder this time, and she turned to start walking, pulling Palmer with her. "The sooner we get through this, the sooner I can make sure she's still alive at the end of the day. Help me, Palmer. I'm not ordering you to accept what I'm doing, but I'm asking you. Help me."

Palmer, mentally struggling with the request, simply nodded. "Whatever you need, ma'am. Vegas will get it done."

Even though Palmer wouldn't feel it, Morgan squeezed the woman's shoulder armor, a bit tighter than she should have, and nodded before letting go. "Thank you, Palmer." Ahead, the sounds of another gunfight broke out as Vegas was engaged by a new enemy.

Morgan set off at a jog with Palmer on her heels. Inside, a large room spread out. They had been slowly dropping below ground level with each new room they entered, and now they were at one of the lowest points in the facility. On either side, three large projectors were buried into the floor, alight with energy, and each one had a small portal sitting over it. Ahead, where two large observation points sat watching the room, a pair of Elites with a cutting torch were working at breaking open the ground floor door, having little success, but making some progress regardless.

They weren't stopping, even as their comrades were engaged with the Spartans of Vegas. When Morgan entered the room, she didn't miss one of them pointing at her, yelling in their guttural language, and a large Elite rounded the cover he had been behind, a fuel rod cannon balanced on his shoulder. Morgan saw it just when O'Hara did, and she started to yell. The fuel rod cannon's trigger and O'Hara's sniper rifle's trigger were both pressed down at the same time.

The heavy whine of the fuel rod cannon firing fought for dominance over the loud crack of the sniper, but it was on target even while the Elite's head disappeared. The green blob came at her, and she was forced to grab Palmer and push her out of the way, just barely in the nick of time.

Radiation alarms spiked in her helmet as the wall she had been standing in front of was turned into molten slag. Palmer was quickly back on her feet and both were rushing to cover. "Status!" She yelled.

Rani, one of the other Spartans, called out to her. "They keep coming through the damn portals! Too many for us to get through before more make it through! We need to get the scientists transferred or we'll never shut them down!"

Morgan's eyes looked out over the battlefield, and she grimaced, spotting the Elite that had given the order for her to be shot. He was their leader, and he had a way of commanding more of them through the portals somehow. If she could wipe him out, maybe she could stem the tide. "I have an idea."

Palmer shouted at her this time to be heard over the din of the firefight. "What's your idea?"

Grabbing the energy sword from her waist, Morgan ignited it, standing over her cover and pointing the two pronged sword at the Elite that she had targeted. The rest of them, and Vegas alongside them, almost did a double take. No more fire came in at her as an order was barked, and she saw another energy sword ignite.

"No!" Palmer tried to grab at Morgan, but the blue armored Spartan was already gone, sprinting at the Elite with sword in hand.

They met with a clash of swords and the weight of two small cars smashing together. Immediately, the Elite started speaking in those spitting tones, her armor translating in real time.

"You will be laid low, Demon, for your transgressions. Your heresy will be removed, and my clan will sing stories about me for generations."

Whether the Elite could understand her or not, she didn't know. "Try me then." And they were apart as she pushed off with her sword, the plasma fields sparking and humming as they parted and came back together. A series of strikes, faster than the eye could keep up, were traded as Morgan and the Elite fought, the tide of battle shifting back and forth every other second. While not a true sword master, like the Elite, Morgan had the reflexes, and that had to count for something.

Around them, plasma fire and tracers crisscrossed the open air, splashing against cover or burrowing into targets. More Elites fell, and more came through the portals to replace them.

Still tuned into their net, Morgan could hear Palmer complaining. "How fucking many are there!?"

Manning, ever the professional, replied with what she would have said. "Too damn many! Don't stop firing or the Commander's toast when she wins that!"

Another clash of blades. The Elite was realizing her fighting style and finding weaknesses in it even while she was trying her best to keep up. He seemed to laugh at her, a deep rumble that matched his mandibles whenever they splayed wide. "Amateur. It is barely even a challenge to fight you. A pity." He pushed off of her sword, pushing her arm out of the way before he moved to impale her.

She dodged out of the way into a roll, and had just enough time to come back up and block another strike. Now, instead of pulling away to hammer at her, the Elite put all of his weight on his sword, forcing her own sword back towards her head. The Elite's sword started to cut into the armored brim of her helmet while her shields collapsed, and she watched as his mandibles widened further in what must have been barely concealed triumph over a Demon, one that he knew well from the war's end. It kept dropping further and further, and with her still on her knees after coming up, she was struggling and running out of time.

The sword tip penetrated her visor next, the material melting at the edges and exposing her as her HUD flickered and failed in that area. She grunted, trying to respond. "A pity you're too damn stupid to make it quick."

With that, and the Elite's confusion palpable, her free hand dropped to her belt, snatching a grenade without the pin. Three seconds. That was all the time she had, and the world slowed down as her fist came up and slammed into the Elite's jaw. The grenade was pushed into his throat, and as he faltered, she pushed his sword up and away and rose to her feet before her leg came up and shot out like a piston, hitting with enough force to dent his armor heavily. His allies noticed what had happened too late, and warbled in alarm before the grenade detonated.

With her shields down, she was still a sitting duck, and several plasma bursts came in as the Elites attempted to stop the Demon, to kill her for the dishonorable tactic she had displayed. Some of the shots splashed against her armor, her collar melting under one hit, and her chest armor failing under another. One barely missed the brim, melting a corner of it. Inside, she frowned as she realized that she had messed up. She had overextended, had finally landed on something Johnson had warned her would be as stubborn as she was. She had no doubt that wherever he was now, he was shaking his head.

But the killing blow never came, no heat bubbling through her, no fusilade of fire to snuff her out. Only the sound of boots on metal and rifles chattering, a shotgun booming, and a pair of magnums sounding like they were being fired on automatic.

Then a hand reached out in front of her. Two green eyes, one obscured, one not, looked at it, and followed the arm back up to meet Palmer's visor. Swallowing, Morgan took her hand and rose to her feet.

"You damn fool," Palmer muttered, even while the rest of Vegas rushed to stop the cutting tool at the end of the room. No more aliens came from the portal, and Morgan's shields finally flickered back to life, a warning on her HUD reshaping to show that her armor had been compromised. "I told you, you get hurt, and your wife will hurt me."

Morgan didn't say anything, and Palmer watched through that new cut in her visor as the green eye inside was fully dilated, looking anywhere but her face.

No response was needed, and she started dragging Morgan to where Vegas had wiped the defenders. "Come on. Let's finish this. You're making my blood pressure spike and I don't like that shit."

The scientists inside came out of the room, ushered forth by Rani. One of them ran for Palmer and Morgan, looking between the two. They had seen it all from above, but more importantly, the scientist met Morgan's eye. He had seen the footage. Everybody in the UNSC had. Everybody had seen that blue armor at the end of the war, had heard her words in the footage. The fact that she was here, now, and had almost gotten her ass handed to her for him and his people, it almost made him apologize.

But they didn't have time for apologies. Palmer let go of Morgan. "Doctor, get your people together. We're shutting these things down."

He only nodded, and the rest came up. Morgan and Vegas surrounded them, weapons in hand, and they were escorted back through the rooms that they had cleared. Who knew how much time they would have before more started coming through the portals with no response from the dead Elite commander.

It took some time, and a long passcode had to be entered from memory along with biological scanning, but they finally got through to the control room, buried under several blast doors and heavy armor. Nothing would get through there, where the tests could be conducted safely. They had only ever practiced with controlled tests, but with whatever had happened on Requiem over the last few days, the portals had been brought to life, and everything had gone to Hell.

Time passed slowly, and each fireteam called in to report that they had all finished clearing out their assigned areas until the entirety of the facility's map was orange. Their job was done. She looked over at Palmer, who had been trying to find a way to relay their comms signal from so far underground back up to the pilots and the Infinity in turn. "Status?"

"Nothing. We wanna talk, we'll have to go topside. This room is isolated entirely from the rest of the base except for the portal generators." Palmer gestured at one of the scientists. "As soon as you finish, you're all coming with us."

He didn't respond, merely speeding his pace a bit more to get their job done faster. They all wanted to get out of here by now.

After what felt like an eternity, but was only twenty minutes, they were done, and Vegas led them back to the entrance. The scientists weren't soldiers, weren't used to seeing a battle's aftermath up close. The smell of cordite mixing with charred flesh and corpses, not to mention the visuals, was enough to make one of them vomit and the rest covered their noses, eyes watering at some of the worst battle sites.

Stepping out into the open air, Morgan immediately keyed her comm. "Crown Actual to any stations this net, respond."

Yokai wasn't quick to reply this time, but someone else did. "Morgan!? What the hell happened down there?"

It was Caesar. The disruption that had been going on in orbit must have cleared up, and she was once again connected to Infinity. "Too much. Facility in New Phoenix is clear."

Caesar wasted no time. "Birds are on their way. Get on them as soon as they get there. We're pulling out of Tucson and New Phoenix. The Didact's ship is maneuvering into geostationary orbit over New Phoenix and we have no idea why."

That didn't bode well. "Say again? Evacuating?"

"Confirm evacuation. You're the last boots on the ground."

Looking up into the sky, the Didact's ship was massive, even hundreds, thousands of miles away. She could see the single glowing eye that lay waiting at the bottom of its form. "Why? What's going on? Did we lose?"

"Not yet. Infinity punched a hole through the ship but the damn thing rearranged its shape on us. All we could do was buy enough time for the Master Chief to make entry. Since then, he's been radio silent." There was a short pause. "No idea if he made it or not. Broadsword datalink got scrubbed and no signals are making it through that hull."

She cursed quietly, biting her cheek. She could only hope he made it. "Understood… and if he didn't?"

His words were a bit more somber this time. "Then we'll hurl everything we got at it and hope it's enough."

It would have to be enough.

The Pelicans touched down soon after, doors already open and the crew chiefs gesturing wildly. The only people evacuating with them were the three scientists that they had brought along. Anybody else still alive was still down there, or dead. They were out of time. Vegas stepped onboard and the Pelican lifted off immediately, the bay closing and the pilots pushing the throttle to maximum.

New Phoenix retreated in the distance, several smoke plumes climbing into the sky, the buildings glittering in the late evening sunset. It was almost peaceful, actually.

And then an orange beam from the ship hanging high in the sky above fired, hitting the middle of the city.

(Originally written in the context of FFN, where I have more interaction, but leaving it in here to attach the image in question since A03 allows image embedding)

I normally do my author's notes at the beginning, but that would have spoiled things. A friend of mine, who drew one of the first ever proper images of Morgan and cemented her character design, is my primary sounding board during my writing. I like sharing the reviews people leave with him, and his first words after seeing the most recent reviews after Hocus' crash was "It seems you've upset many people." Well, call me a drama queen. I think one of you summarized it best: "Welcome back to hell, Morgan." Anyway, I don't wanna drone on, but I wanted to wait to post this, since he decided to make some art for "all the people Monarch made upset." You can find him on twitter at Arcade_Test, and he has works on FFN and A03 under the name Bravura_Atma. Hopefully it makes up for all the angst I put some of you through these past few days. 

Then this second image, because why not? I commissioned this art from @ Heartbreak_Juan on Twitter.

Chapter Text

Faith's all I have left

My dreams and hopes have been reduced to ashes now

Singed by fate's cruel wiles

No longer afraid

Just a faint sorrow as I face the shadows

I will miss you when my star stops shining.

- Emil ~ Sacrifice, Nier OST

New Phoenix was thrown from the discord that had come from a ground battle in a heavy urban environment, into pure chaos for those left behind for but an instant. Waves of energy radiated out from New Phoenix in all directions, kicking up a dust storm that would have rivaled those that plagued Mars before it had been civilized and terraformed.

Morgan could only watch as the city was lost behind that wall of dust, with no idea what was going on. Her helmet had fallen to the ground, damaged and forgotten as her fingers went limp. It was like a glassing, but she had no idea that it was so much worse in its own way.

The other Spartans of Fireteam Vegas, crowding around her to get a look at the city, were witnessing seven million people being lost to a digital hell that they would never return from. Those people were alone in their final true moments, skin ripped from muscle, muscle ripped from bone, and bone turned to nothing more than ash to mark that they had ever been there at all. Finally, they were scattered by the energy waves, sent throughout the city in a storm that was the accumulation of millions of years of memories and experiences.

And then it was all gone as the pilot in the cockpit pushed the throttle up and raised the nose, lifting them higher and higher to escape from the rapidly advancing dust storm, before leveling out and showing only the late evening sky and the beam falling from orbit.

She stared for the rest of the trip, trying to keep sight of it, until the Pelican banked and started dropping altitude, and the city had long since disappeared over the horizon. When the Pelican touched down and the bay hissed open, Morgan felt her frown tugging at her face, and she finally stretched down to grab her helmet.

Vegas filed out around her as she looked down at it, staring into the damaged visor, and then she saw a flash of familiarity in her mind. The nightmare she'd had the night before Greer and Jun had first come to bring her back into the fold, her helmet had been damaged in a similar fashion. Her armor had worn the damage that had been inflicted to it at the end of the war, but the damaged visor looked just like this, and she felt that old chill go down her spine.

Instead of putting it back on, she hooked it to her belt, wanting anything but to look at it again on the heels of so much happening. Hocus being shot down, nearly being killed by that Elite, watching New Phoenix disappear under that beam of light. She shuddered.

A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she turned to follow the hand back to its owner. Sarah Palmer had a look of questioning on her face, her own helmet off. "You alright?"

"Not after today." Morgan wouldn't lie. She had been out of the fighting for so long that coming so close to death wasn't a common thing anymore. She had little to lose back then, save for herself. Now? She had the world and more. Not just the world in general, but her world.

"I don't think any of us are alright after seeing that," Palmer admitted.

The only response she got was the tightening of Morgan's frown, her lips a thin line. After a moment, she spoke up again. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything, ma'am."

"Find out where they have my wife. I would like to see her."

Palmer licked her lips as she nodded, her helmet coming up and onto her head again. With her speakers off, Morgan heard nothing for almost a full minute, before Palmer was exposed again. "Medical building, right next to the main taxiway. Building is big and blocky, right behind three permanent hangar buildings," Palmer said, pointing off to the north side of Joint Spaceport Leonard Haywood.

That was all Morgan needed, and she set off at a jog. They had put down not far from the medical building to begin with. Lessons had been learned in keeping medical facilities capable of stabilizing wounded near runways until they could be moved to more dedicated trauma facilities. It wasn't a long run by any means, and she was there before she had much of a chance to think about it.

Stepping into the air conditioned building, her armor stood out, dirty and damaged. People in fatigues were moving from place to place to deal with the wounded that had been evacuated from Tucson. She made for the front desk, and the single minded focus that a Spartan could bring to bear was turned on the lower enlisted trooper sitting at the front desk. He looked up at her and then back to his monitor, before doing a double take. "Ma'am?"

"Amber Bailey, Pelican pilot brought in here close to half an hour ago?"

His mouth opened slightly as he started scouring his terminal for the information. "Third floor, west side, room 311." Patient information shouldn't have been given out so freely to someone who'd not even identified themselves, but there was no way he was going to bring the ire of a Spartan fresh off the field, not when they had armor that was damaged like hers.

The next stage of her trip led her to an elevator, and she decided against waiting for it, instead going into the stairwell, taking them three or even four at a time, wanting nothing more than to be with her wife again.

She had only gotten to the third floor when she realized that she was prioritizing her wife again, one person, instead of thinking of the battle above, of the Master Chief and his suicide run against the Didact. The wind left her sails, and it all started to pour in.

She stopped there, at the landing right outside the door that would take her into the hallway and her wife. Without thinking, her hand shot out to the side, and her fist left a large spiderweb of cracks in the concrete wall.

"Fuck!"

She turned her body, rearing back with her other hand, and forced herself to stop before she damaged the wall even further. She felt responsible for John, for Cortana. She felt as if she was failing them by not thinking of them in what might be their final moments. But what could she do? She wouldn't be able to join them, to help deliver that nuke, or even to get back to Infinity. Her fight was over.

All that was left was to go to her wife, to make sure she was going to be okay.

And so she did. She left the cracked wall behind, pushing out into the corridor and getting her bearings before going into room 311, where Amber Bailey lay in a hospital bed, her flight gear gone and a hospital gown replacing it. Doctors had cut the gear away and checked her immediately on landing. The Marine squad leader had made good on his promise, and Gibson had swung more than a little weight around. Amber had been right in the beginning.

Nepotism was a bitch.

Heavy armored boots on the floor of her room caught the pilot's attention, and she looked over at Morgan. Stitches went through the wound that had been ripped open on her face, and the skin around it was red and swollen, her right eye being mostly shut. The hair on the right side of her head had been pinned back. An intravenous line was inserted in her right arm, and on her right hand, swelling around her thumb was already showing up, and movement wasn't happening any time soon. It had been splinted, and a small wrapping filled with ice had been put around it.

Morgan managed to force a smile as they met each other's eyes. "You look like you lost another bar fight."

Amber almost smiled, but winced. When she spoke, her voice was slightly slurred, partially from the painkillers and partially from the right side of her face being swollen up like a balloon. Some yellowing was already showing up, and darker coloration wouldn't be too far behind. "It was one time. Maybe if you'd pulled your weight…"

Morgan's smile got a little more genuine. "I was pulling my weight. In case you forgot, you got the easy fight. I had to fight off four angry bikers without killing them, while you got into a slap fight with a woman that looked like she was built from twigs." A moment of thought, and she faked being puzzled. "Y'know, I didn't think that motorcycle gangs still existed until then."

The wounded pilot's chest rose and fell with concealed laughter, only the breaths escaping as Amber fought to keep from moving too much. "Everyone is built from twigs to you. Either way, I could have taken them."

Morgan only rolled her eyes. "Uh huh, whatever you say."

She moved closer, and with no chairs able to hold her weight, Morgan crouched down, taking a knee and locking her armor from the waist down before reaching up to take her wife's hand. "I was worried about you."

One brown eye met green for a moment as the brown eye searched Morgan's face, then her armor. "It shows," she replied softly. "Didn't realize it at first but, you were supposed to still be in the sky. How'd you get to me so fast?"

"Crash landing." She didn't elaborate.

"Voluntary or not?"

"Voluntary."

Amber's good eyes closed and she sighed softly. "You're a damn fool, you know that?"

That got another half smile from Morgan. "Yeah, well…" She shrugged. "Split second decision in the heat of combat."

This time, the look was withering, disapproving. "You shouldn't have done that just for me."

Morgan's smiled turned into a frown, and she looked down at Amber's hand. "I know. I felt terrible when I got in the cockpit. I didn't even look at the co-pilot until I knew you were still breathing." Amber's face softened as Morgan went on. "They were gone, nothing I could have done, but it still felt… wrong. I prioritized you over everything else. The battle, your co-pilot, nothing else mattered. I only had room in my brain for you."

Amber gave the Spartan's hand a squeeze. "I understand."

Morgan looked back up at her. "You do?"

The reply was soft, before their eyes met again. "Of course I do. You spent a month with Noble, and they haunted you for years after. We've been together… for far longer, and I know exactly what would have happened to you had I not made it out of that crash."

Neither of them said it out loud, but both knew that if Amber had perished when her Pelican went down, Morgan would have followed soon after, picking every fight she could in an effort to vent her sorrow and rage, and eventually, she would have met her match.

The mood had immediately turned from one of relief to one that was somber, contemplative. They both sat there quietly for a time, before Morgan leaned down, bringing Amber's hand up and kissing her knuckles. Amber quietly watched, letting her wife have a moment, before she spoke up.

"What now?"

Morgan didn't take her eyes off of that hand. "Nothing. Our fight is over. It's all up to Infinity and John. If they fail…" She trailed off, shaking her head.

That was all the answer Amber needed, and she let her head lay back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Everything was out of their hands now. They stayed like that for a time, before a chirp came from Morgan's hip. Reaching down with her free hand, she pulled her helmet up, and Amber watched as her helmet came into view. When she saw the exposed green eye from inside, seeing the damage the helmet had taken, she looked away, her lower lip twitching before her mouth tightened and controlled itself.

"Go for Crown."

"It's finished." It was Caesar.

"Say again?"

"Look up."

Morgan slipped her hand out of Amber's, going to the window and looking out at the sky. There had been no flash, no sound to accompany it, nothing that would have told her it had been finished, but as she looked out to see the Didact's ship, she saw nothing but a rapidly spreading debris field glittering in the sky. The beam that it had emitted was gone, and Caesar was right.

It was finished.

"...Copy. Status of the Master Chief?"

"Unknown, as soon as some of the radiation clears, we'll start picking through the debris field, see if we can't find a transponder. But… don't get hopeful, Morgan."

Morgan squinted her eyes closed, frowning, her hands tightening into fists at her side. Caesar waited for her response patiently, and she finally responded. "Understood. Call fireteams back to Infinity when able, and I'll return as soon as I'm finished here."

"Yes, ma'am."

Then he was gone, and her helmet came off of her head again, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud and staying there.

She watched that debris field for what felt like hours, until Amber opened her mouth again. "Morgan?"

Morgan turned around, meeting her wife's eye, and Amber didn't miss the glossiness that was in those eyes. Amber only motioned her closer, and Morgan once again went to a knee. Amber's right hand came up, pulling Morgan's head down to her lap, and both hands sat on the dark hair. As Amber slowly started to stroke those loose hairs down and comfort her wife, Morgan Bailey finally allowed herself to cry again.

An hour passed by, and Morgan only left Amber's bedside when she was being transferred, personally pushing her wheelchair all the way out to the waiting medical Pelican. A team from Infinity was already onboard. Amber was the only surviving casualty from the shoot down of Wizard flight. All Spartans that had taken damage had been minor wounds, or in Morgan's case, heavy armor damage.

The flight up was slow, careful, and much smoother than a combat burn to orbit. Infinity sat waiting, and the flight control room guided the Pelican in, where another group of people, this time medics, were waiting to receive the pair.

Morgan helped Amber to her feet. She could walk on her own, but the pilot knew better than to be stubborn in a situation like this, especially when Morgan hadn't said a word since Caesar had called to her almost an hour before.

Moving to another wheelchair that would take her to Infinity's medical wing, where she would continue to heal in preparation to return to duty, Amber refused to let go of Morgan's hand, waiting until Morgan looked down at her and met that questioning look. No words were spoken, but they didn't need to be. Amber squeezed Morgan's hand tightly, and Morgan squeezed back. It was all the reassurance she needed.

Morgan was wounded, not dead. She would carry on, just like she had said she would to HIGHCOM.

The pair split up as Morgan went the opposite direction, towards the bridge. It was a blur as she went through those far-too-similar corridors. She wouldn't be taking her armor off, wouldn't be replacing it just yet. She had eyes on only one thing. Pelicans were scouring the debris field now, looking for any sign of the Master Chief, or at least his armor. Something for them to recover, or a final confirmation that he was to be truly listed as KIA.

The two Spartan bridge guards, wearing white armor, watched as she cut a path through the empty corridors. One, a monster that might have been a bit bigger than August, watched her. The other, far shorter, slimmer, did likewise. The big one read as having Spartan II tags, and wore the Mark V pattern of all things, and the other was a III from Gamma clad in the GEN 2 tech suit and the Helljumper pattern. She hadn't met either one yet, but she would meet them eventually. Now, she only had eyes for one thing.

Both saluted as she passed them by, and she returned it, not slowing her stride as the bridge doors hissed apart. People remained seated at their stations, coordinating as they were meant to with the ship still tentatively at general quarters. Two people stood in front of the holotable. One was Captain Lasky, his arms crossed, but his face softening slightly as he saw who was entering. The other was a tall black man with caramel colored skin. Commander Marcus 'Caesar' Gibson's head was shaved bald, reflecting the overhead lights. A severe appearance with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once was the first thing that stood out. He stood a little taller than Lasky, broader in the shoulders, and heavily muscled.

Both of them caught sight of her at the same time, and while they knew what had happened to Hocus had wore on her, Gibson having heard it first hand and relayed to Lasky, neither of them had expected her armor to look battered and broken. They saw that single green eye, exposed through the hole in her visor, and frowned.

She simply gestured to Lasky. His lips tightened for a moment, before he gestured to the holotable in turn, where Monsoon suddenly appeared. Her raincoat had been soaked with water, a heavy rain coming down on her holographic form silently. "Monsoon, status?"

She responded immediately. "Super Niner Eight has reported they are homing in on the center of the radiation, but they are experiencing complications when attempting to pick out any particular transponder frequencies. High frequency radiation. Additionally, Super Niner Niner has moved off from Niner Eight, and is attempting to form a perimeter around the expected center of the zone. Triangulation efforts to follow when Super Six Four has moved into position."

"Estimated time to completion?" Morgan was quick on the draw.

"Unknown, Captain, but closest estimate is at the very least, 10 minutes. Multiple factors complicate the search."

She pursed her lips. "How long since the ship blew?"

"Exactly 76 minutes, 43 seconds."

Mjolnir only had 90 minutes of air. Even if he was alive, he was running on borrowed time now. All they could do was wait, and so they did. The triangulation started up soon after, and the three officers stood waiting, wondering if anything would be found.

When the transponder showed up on the holotable, and the comm from Super Niner Eight came through, Morgan's breath hitched in her throat, and she intercepted Lasky before he could say anything. "Niner Eight, say status."

The signal was covered in static from the radiation. "Armor seems to be in one piece somehow. No scorch marks, even. We're bringing him onboard now. Have medical standing by. ETA five mikes."

The big woman felt herself shudder beneath her armor, something that neither Gibson nor Laskey picked up on. "I'll… meet them when they arrive."

Neither tried to stop her as she turned on her heel and left, the bridge doors hissing closed behind her. She had to temper her hope, had to believe that, if he was coming in, he was dead. Nothing more than a body in the armor. She put her helmet back on, immediately opening a comm to Crown. "Paul."

His response was immediate. "Send for Paul."

She hesitated for a moment, closing her eyes as she steadied herself. "They found him. You and Castille, meet me in Hangar 12B-L."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and when his voice came back, it was almost downcast. "On our way."

It cut as soon as he was finished, and Morgan only focused on going to meet the Pelican when it touched down. Best case scenario, she welcomed her friend back despite the odds. Worst case?

Crown would be pallbearers for Humanity's greatest hero.

She was the first to arrive, with August and Helen coming through less than a minute later. They stood there in silence until they saw the landing lights of Niner Eight moving to pierce through the hangar shields. It was still the same old Pelican, but it had something more to it now. It turned in the air, until the tail was facing them, and slowly came down to the ground.

Morgan hung on every slight movement. The ventral thrusters shifting before the thrust ceased, the downward movement of the Pelican settling on its gear, and most importantly, the initial movements of the Pelican's bay door hissing open and slowly lowering to the floor.

Inside, olive drab armor, a golden visor, a stoic monolith that had been a savior to Humanity for over 30 years, stood without a sound as the light from the hangar settled on the Master Chief. Minute movements that only Spartans would have noticed could be seen as his eyes must have passed over the three of them, before he finally settled on Morgan in the center.

They stared each other down for a few moments. His armor was the same as it had been when he'd left, no new damage whatsoever. Hers, on the other hand, had been savaged in the fight on the ground, and it didn't pass over the Chief's mind that her visor had a large hole in it, exposing her eye.

Finally, he stepped down, his armor seeming sluggish, heavy, lacking that familiar grace that she had learned to associate with him. When he stepped to the bottom, Morgan started to say something, expecting him to stop in front of her, but no such thing happened.

Instead, he simply walked around her, his visor ahead, eyes only for the door to the rest of the ship. Crown's leading three members turned in place and watched his back go, and Morgan felt a little bit of hurt deep inside. It wasn't that she felt slighted, or less than important. Something was wrong. Something was extremely wrong.

August and Castille looked at her as if she had an answer, but she didn't. Quietly, as her shoulders fell, she almost whispered their orders. "Dismissed."

The two shared a look between each other now, but they could pick up on their leader's state by now, and they left as she had asked. Neither would push her, not now.

Morgan stood there for a few moments, trying to think, trying to figure out what had happened. He had said nothing of his own state, physical or otherwise. He wasn't hurt, he wasn't looking for help or treatment. He had gone around her, like a river flowing around a boulder. Why was-

And then it hit her like a slap in the face, and she felt that knot in her gut go cold. Closing her eyes, she sighed softly. Only one of them had made it out the other side, and she only had one guess as to who it was.

A few more moments of contemplation, and she called the bridge. "Lasky, Crown."

Protocol was gone. "What happened?"

"I think… I think we've lost Cortana."

Only the hum of the ship around the lone figure that had taken up residence on the starboard observation deck made any noise. The hum of the engine, occasional calls through the intercom for the area, and the sound of one heart beating on when it felt it had lost the reason to do so.

John-117 had been there for a half hour, not making a sound, locked in that position as he looked over Earth and the slowly spreading debris field that had been left behind from the destruction of the Mantle's Approach.

It wasn't often that something could sneak up on the Master Chief. Few things had succeeded. Behind him now, though, a ghost had seemingly materialized.

"Mind if I join you?"

His contemplation broken, he glanced over his shoulder at the voice behind him. Morgan Bailey stood there, clad only in her tech suit, the armor having been taken off and left behind. "Of course not, ma'am."

She stepped forward, still not making a sound. Green eyes watched as he turned back to look at Earth, and she stopped next to him. There was a moment of comfortable silence, before she spoke up. "You ever take the time to stop and look at a planet when you're in its orbit?"

A shift, armor moving against armor as he glanced over at her. "No."

It was short and clipped. She went on. "Me neither… but there's something beautiful in it now." She waited a moment, but he didn't respond. "Takes on a whole new kind of look when you have something down there. Something concrete." She shrugged, pointing to the middle of the URNA, where even from here, large mountain ranges could be seen with their enhanced eyes. "See those mountains? That's where I've spent the years since the war ended. Where I've been able to make something that's not…" She reached over, wrapping her knuckles on his shoulder armor. "...this."

Looking over at him, she saw that he was looking at the planet again, but she had no way of knowing what he was looking at in particular. He still said nothing, seemingly locked down tight.

Her lips dropped into a frown. "I'm sorry, John."

Another look from him, this time just barely noticeable. "...You knew?"

She turned to meet his eyes in particular. "I assumed. I didn't hear anything from her, and you looked like you'd lost everything."

Instead of saying anything, he reached up to his helmet, pulling the AI datachip from it and holding it out to her. The center was dark, lacking the telltale blue glow that had indicated Cortana had been in it before. When she saw it, her frown deepened, and she remembered a conversation they'd had many years before, on the Forward Unto Dawn.

A time when she'd tried to give him his brother's tags, and he had made her keep them.

Now, she looked it over, and after a moment, she took it, but she didn't pocket it. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder and kept him from moving, reaching up and slotting the chip back into place in his helmet. "This belongs to you, John. I refuse to take that from you. I'll-"

It was almost like he had remembered that same moment. "You'll honor her your own way."

His gravely voice had an air of finality to it, and she slowly nodded. "I will, but more importantly, I think there's something you should learn." When he didn't answer her again, she went on. "Something that I've learned over the years, wearing Jorge and Emile's tags almost every second since I got them." She reached up, putting her hand on her chest where she knew the tags lay under her tech suit. "There are things that we keep to remember people by. Dog tags, pictures, memories, whatever it may be. For me, it was their tags. I didn't have all of them but I had some of them, and that was enough."

She didn't look at him, instead focusing on that mountain range, on where her home was, where her life had truly started. "If I didn't have these tags, I don't think I'd ever have been able to receive true closure. Now, I think… that chip may be the same for you. A way to remember her, not just in your memories, but in feeling too. A physical reminder that she was here, and a reminder of all that you both went through together."

Still nothing came from his lips. A silence spread out between them, before she spoke up again, sounding almost sad. "I won't pretend to know just how deep your bond with Cortana went, but I know what it feels like, to lose those you consider the closest, and I never want to feel that again. In our line of work, though…"

She trailed off, and when he finally spoke again, the sound of conviction was in it, but it was shaky. "Our duty, as soldiers, is to protect Humanity… whatever the cost."

Morgan's mind immediately went back to her wife, already established in the medical wing, and that feeling of shame came back to her as she remembered that she had thrown everything to the side when she'd expected her wife to have died in that crash. When she looked back to her friend, she had a sad smile on her face, one borne of understanding, and shared pain.

"We're soldiers, John, but we're Humans first. You and me, and the other Spartans, all the way down to a baby that's being born down there right now. The only difference between us is the upbringing we've had. We're people, not machines, despite what we've been made to be. We're capable of things that no other people are capable of… but that doesn't make us different from a child and their favorite toy, than a parent looking upon their baby for the first time, than a woman learning how to leave a war behind and make something new."

He turned to look at her at the last bit, and her smile grew slightly. "You're just like me… but you can't see it yet. We're not machines, John. I need you to remember that." John held her gaze for a few moments, and her smile slowly slipped down to something that was barely there. "I… When this is all done, and Infinity stands down for repairs, there are some things I want to show you. But until then, I'll let you have the deck to yourself." She turned and started walking away, and before she got to the door, she stopped, not looking back. "When you're ready… come find me."

And that was all that needed to be said. The door opened, she stepped through, and she was gone as she left John-117 to grieve in his own way.

I decided to make this author's note at the end, much as last time.

I struggled with this chapter and the direction I wanted to go. The only thing I've ever tried to write for Morgan's story before it was ready was this epilogue analogue, because I knew it was coming eventually. I didn't truly know where I wanted to go with it or what I wanted to do. For those of you asking for Halo 5… well, I'm not sure about that. There's a lot going on that I just don't know how to reconcile as a narrative without changing the whole thing up, but at the same time, I don't know how to do that. Not yet. If I ever decide to continue through to the next story, I think I'll write it all up, complete it, and only post after it's finished. I don't want to start something that I might not be able to finish.

There will be one more chapter after this, and then, Infinite Choices will come to a close. Morgan's story will continue in Snapshots, and you'll get to see the transition from the war weary woman you all fell in love with, to a woman who finds something more than just an existence, but a life. So for those of you that have stuck with me since the beginning, I thank you wholeheartedly for supporting me on the journey I've taken. I hope you'll stick around for whatever else comes down the pipeline.

N ow, bear with me one more time before the curtain falls, and thank you for coming.

Chapter Text

"...And thanks, friend. See you again."

- Larry "Solo Wing Pixy" Foulke, Ace Combat Zero

August 25th, 2558

One year after New Phoenix Incident

Town of Allerai, URNA

The smell of food was the most prominent thing in the two story house on the side of the mountain, blown in from a chill wind in the back yard, where a grill was alight and had just got a new batch of meats thrown on it. The woman tending to it shut it down and hummed, pleased with how everything was coming along.

With her job of rotating more food through the grill done, Amber Bailey glanced off to her right, along the side of the house, and gave a smile at what she saw, but she didn't interfere. Instead, she turned on her heel and headed inside, shutting the door behind her.

Now, the hiss of meat on the grill was replaced by conversation and the sound of whatever was on the television. It looked like the New Carthage Sprint Series had started and someone decided it was something to watch. She didn't miss that several large men and women had taken up the primary couches and were in the middle of watching it with a single minded focus. The only one to look at her was a woman with parted brown hair, kept in a tight bun as always. Sarah Palmer looked away from the screen for a moment, giving Amber a smile, before she went back to watching the race. Fireteam Vegas had conquered her couches, it seemed.

The kitchen was where she went next. Bowls and plates of different foods sat on the large bar that separated the kitchen from the den. More than once now, Amber had been the barrier that her visitors had failed to break in their attempts to steal a bite, but she was only one woman.

So she'd wrangled one large helper to keep the kitchen under control in ways that only a Spartan could do. Paul August, Crown Two, was humming to himself as he cut through a line of several vegetables at once. His large hands made it easy to use the just-as-large knife, and he glanced over at her with a half smile as Amber stepped into the kitchen.

The kitchen, large as it was, felt almost cramped with Paul's bulk taking up so much of the place. The man was a damn mountain.

"How's it going in here?" She asked, stopping with a hand on his back.

"No problems here, ma'am. Everything's coming along perfectly now that the rabble is distracted with the race."

Amber couldn't help but smile. It was weird seeing him in civilian clothes after almost exclusively seeing him in techsuits or Mjolnir. Paul, being the large man he was, was wearing a hoodie that had probably taken so much effort as to fill a textile location's entire queue for a week.

She hummed in appreciation, making sure the next batch of meat was laid out on the pan and ready to be taken out a few minutes later. It had been a revolving door of these pans going out, and even now, several had been covered with aluminum foil to prevent too much heat escaping from the finished pieces. A moment passed as she ensured everything was fine, and she turned to Paul. "You seen Morgan?"

"Boss went upstairs a few minutes ago," he said, only looking away for a moment.

"Roger all," she said, rapping against the big man's shoulder as she passed by. "Don't cut yourself," she called over her shoulder as she made it to the stairs.

All she got was a laugh in return, before she disappeared behind the wall that covered the stairway a quarter of the way up. Climbing it, the sound of the party below seemed to fade away, muffled by the material of the home.

All of the doors were closed, save for the open bathroom door, and the door to the master bedroom. Inside, she saw a familiar figure, black hair down by their shoulders, back turned to her. Entering the room, Amber was careful to make a sound, as she always was.

Morgan turned to face her wife, and almost immediately, as if it was purely reactive, Morgan let herself grin at the newcomer. "Come to find me?"

"Something like that, you know I can't stay away long," she replied, closing the distance and wrapping her arms around the Spartan. Morgan's arms came up in turn, her left hand clad in the wedding band that she'd put on the instant they'd gotten home for their two week leave a few days prior.

Morgan only chuckled, putting her cheek against Amber's head and holding her tightly. When they both pulled back, Morgan took a good look at Amber's face, like she always did, and brushed some of her hair away on the right side of her face. Since the shoot down over New Phoenix, the wound she had taken had healed up, leaving behind a large scar that had gone pale in the year since. It followed the same path, and was more than noticeable.

In the weeks following it, after Amber had healed up and they both noted there was a scar, Morgan had asked if she planned to have cosmetic alterations to hide the scar, a relatively normal procedure, especially after the war.

At the time, Amber had thought about it, before she shook her head. Amber had chosen to keep the scar, giving her answer even as she ran her finger over the twin scars on Morgan's cheek. "I think I'll keep it," she had said.

Now, it seemed less like a scar, a deformity on an otherwise beautiful face, and was worn more like a badge of pride, a reminder, and most of all, a way that connected them. It was poetic, in a sense, two warriors being connected by not just their good parts, but the bad parts, scars and all.

"What had you really coming up here to interrupt my mirror gazing?" Morgan asked, their little moment of affection over.

"Wanted to see if we had anybody else showing up."

"Nah, not that I know of. Lasky was a maybe, said Infinity's new AI was coming online and he was onboarding the new XO. Said don't wait up. Rest of Crown is with their families. Gibson's daughter is with him this weekend and he wanted to focus on her." A shrug. "Gotta make the most of our leave while we can, right?"

Amber nodded, humming. "True. I didn't see Kris out there. She go home early?"

"No, she'll be back, she went to get more of her baking stuff. I think I saw Helen scurry out the door after her when she saw Kris bring in the first platter of cookies."

"Oh, God. Now we'll never get her back," Amber teased, smirking to herself as she glanced out the window overlooking the street, spotting Kris' house and only wondering what the two of them had gotten up to since Helen had been coaxed away with the promise of showing off her baking skills.

"Vain woman," Morgan whispered quietly, a smile on her own lips.

The two laughed together for a moment, enjoying the other's company for a few short moments before they were back to being hosts to several Spartans and eventually a middle aged woman and her husband. It was small, but that was good enough for Morgan.

Luckily, they had all come from Infinity, save for Morgan and Amber, so they had at least carpooled, and her driveway wasn't filled with cars.

Finally, they broke apart, but Morgan made it a point to grab Amber's hand. "Come on, let's go back down, figure we don't have too much time before it's all ready, right?"

"About ten more minutes."

"Then we're running out of time!"

Morgan grinned, dragging Amber back out of their room, shutting the door and taking her back downstairs. She met Paul's eyes when she appeared, and he gave her a momentary grin, having moved from vegetables to seasoning the next batch of meat that would go out.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, taking a look across her home, seeing the members of Vegas, seeing Paul, knowing Helen and Kris were on their way back with even more people. It was new, seeing her home essentially 'full'. It was nice. It was something she liked.

Looking back to Amber, she jerked her head towards the back door, where the grill sat. "How was it going?"

Amber glanced at the window to the right of the door, looking at something on the other side of the blinds. "Well, I think." A shrug. "See for yourself, you're the expert."

"Good idea." Morgan let go of Amber's hand and passed by Vegas, caught up in their spectacle, and headed for the door. She pulled it open and stepped out without a sound, shutting it quietly behind her as she looked over where that window was, and saw what she had been expecting.

She made her way over, moving into a crouch next to the big man that was on his knees, moving some dirt around a newly planted flower to complete the most recent addition to the family of flowers that grew along the back of her house.

"Aster Tataricus," she pointed out when he looked up at her. "The Japanese called it Shion. How are you doing?"

John-117 dusted his hands off on his jeans, his dark eyes looking up at her with questioning. "I'm… good. I didn't expect to enjoy this."

A ghost of a smile on her face. "Yeah? Tell me about it."

"It's new." He looked away, down at his hands, and then the purple petals surrounding the flower's golden core. "It feels good. I like how it makes me feel, from start to finish."

She hummed, nodding. "I felt the same when I started. Never thought that I'd enjoy something like this, seemed… weird, to me. Asked myself when Kris first told me about it, why would I do that? Why would I plant flowers that don't do anything?" A shrug. "Found out pretty quick there's something relaxing about it."

John sat back, his jeans covered in dirt around the knees, his hands covered in the grime that came from digging around barehanded. "Do you have a word for that feeling?"

Morgan couldn't help but grin, white teeth showing through. "Satisfaction. Fulfillment. Happiness."

He looked away from her, back to the flower, and after a moment, he slowly nodded. "Those sound about right to me. I don't… have the words to describe these feelings, but they feel right."

Her grin grew at that. "Sometimes that's all you need, right?"

"Maybe."

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Accept the little things. You know how when we're in armor, we can pick out the smallest things that the others do? Even if nobody else would see them?" A nod. "It's like that. Small things like this, they have a world of meaning and feeling to them. It's important that we learn to understand those, to take them into ourselves and grow from it."

Dark eyes turned back to her, and she saw something else in them. "What does it mean, then? The flower?"

She had been expecting that, and she gestured down at it. "It has plenty of uses and meanings, technically and practically. What I think is most important about it is that it had a meaning that was given to it. The Japanese had a language of flowers, known as 'Hanakotoba'. It was like a code word, or phrase, that was used in ceremonies or gifts. This flower… it symbolizes remembrance."

He was silent, looking down at it again, locked on. She went on.

"When I first found it, I did some research. A phrase to give to it is 'I won't forget you.' That meaning is why I gave it to you to plant."

It had been just over a year since Cortana had been lost, and she knew that he still carried her with him. The AI chip that she had resided in was on a chain around his neck, hidden in his shirt. She remembered it even now, when he'd taken his armor off on Infinity. The chip had been taken out and he'd kept it on hand. The techs had tried to take it, but they'd failed, and at the murderous look in his eyes, they'd backed off. ONI came for it next, agents coming aboard to review the ship after the fight. When one of them, a Lieutenant, had demanded the chip, the man had tried to take it by force.

It hadn't ended well, and Morgan had been forced to come between them in the middle of the rigging bay. While John had come out unscathed, the Lieutenant had barely gotten away with only a few broken fingers. Morgan had made it clear that nobody would be taking it unless they wanted to be carried out in a body bag.

After that, she had strung it up on a chain, had given it to him to keep, to carry with him just like she carried Emile and Jorge's tags.

Now, they both looked over the flower, and simply sat admiring the look it had for a time. A flash of movement caught her eye, and John's as well, and they watched as a pale blue butterfly, with a white rim around its wings and an orange coloring at the edges, settled in on the flower. It flapped its wings a few times, showing a series of black dots on a white background on the inside.

Curious, Morgan pulled out her phone, switching to an app she had taken to identify wild life and plants. Holding the camera over the butterfly, she watched as the results came in. "A Karner Blue butterfly. That's a new one."

As she looked over the butterfly's wings, it jumped from the flower, fluttering up to land on John's shoulder. Morgan took a closer look at it, realizing that the blue coloration struck something inside her, and she frowned slightly. She had never been superstitious, but…

At that, John started to reach up to touch it, and it hopped from his shoulder to his finger, flapping its wings slowly and showing the blue coloration as it turned to stare him in the face. Confused, John looked to her for an explanation, and her frown turned into a smile.

"I think she's sending us a message," Morgan started, watching the butterfly closely.

"She?"

"Cortana, John. I've never seen one of these species before, and all of a sudden you finish planting a remembrance flower, and one of them comes to the flower and then you? Lands on your finger? That's nothing short of a symbol."

Neither of them were superstitious, and something told her that John was far from the type to believe in something like that, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he looked back to the butterfly. It was blue, just like her. Maybe it was a sign? Slowly, he nodded. "Maybe…"

At that, the butterfly flapped its wings again, fluttering off into the sky. They watched it until it was too small even for them to see, and it disappeared into the forest at the top of the mountain.

The two finally looked back to each other and Morgan gave him a smile. "How did it feel?"

John's shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, using the time to think, before nodding almost to himself. "...Good."

She put her hand on his back, nodding in return. "Good. How are you feeling?"

"Good. Relaxed. I think… I'd like to do this again sometime."

"You know all you have to do is ask."

Morgan rose to her feet, and John rose with her. He had spent the majority of his own leave at her home. Just as Amber and Sugar had done to Morgan all those years ago, when the war ended, Amber and Morgan had done the same to John. She'd forced him off of Infinity finally, taken him to her home, had shown him around, introduced him to Kris, taken him shopping for normal clothes, and even given him that room that she'd made up for Amber all those years ago.

It had only been a week, but he'd made plenty of progress. She had even heard him laugh. The thought of having him try planting had come to her when they'd been on the bird back to the surface, and she'd custom ordered the shion to her local shop. The shion had arrived the day before, and she'd gone to pick it up that morning. It had gotten a look from the florist, who she knew well by now, but Morgan had only winked and thanked them for the order.

She'd come home and told him about it, had given it to him and instructed him on how to plant it, and then the party had started. Now, it was in the ground, and he had enjoyed it. The symbolism had only been icing on the cake.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up, food should be ready soon. You could probably eat most of it yourself," she quipped at the end.

He only raised an eyebrow in questioning, but had followed her inside nonetheless and split off to clean up.

Morgan went for the kitchen, where the last bits were coming to completion. The smell of dessert was in her nose now too, and she saw that Kris and her husband had arrived. Helen had finally come back as well, and Morgan saw that gleam in her eye that indicated she had taken pride in something. Stepping up next to Kris, she gently bumped her hip against the older woman's, startling her. "Hope Helen wasn't too much of a bother."

Kris only laughed. "I think I might keep her. She's… more than a little good at decorating whatever came out of the oven."

Morgan grinned, speaking loud enough that she knew Helen would hear. "She might be a Spartan, but inside, she's really a 'pretty princess' type." She didn't miss the look of displeasure that Helen shot at her, and made it a point to ignore the other Spartan.

Kris only shook her head. "You shouldn't start things, Morgan. It's mean!"

"She'll live," Morgan replied. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Kris' husband had immediately gone for the couch where Vegas was sitting, joining in as if he was part of the team rather than an outsider. A sudden change in the positioning of one of the rally Warthogs on screen had them all cheer at once.

Finally, Paul raised his voice. "Alright, you brutes, don't hurt anyone on your stampede in here, but dinner's done."

Morgan gestured to the kitchen. "Might wanna get in there before you have to deal with the sentient water buffalo herd," she said to Kris. The older woman was easily the smallest person in the house at that point.

"Good idea," she shot back, immediately moving into the kitchen to hide close to Helen so she wasn't crushed.

Vegas got up and came in after, and the procession through the kitchen was quick and orderly, despite her joking. Paul had been smart enough to line it up like a chow line, something they were all more than familiar with.

Vegas got their food and disappeared back into the living room, taking their plates and their new friend with them. Kris and Helen took the dining room table, Paul followed them soon after, and Morgan and Amber slowly got their own, talking quietly with each other.

John was the last to show up, and he took his food outside almost immediately. He liked being outside, it seemed. Morgan and Amber looked at each other, and decided to follow him out.

In the time that had passed by since the start of it all, the day had gone from late afternoon to late evening, and the sun was a deep orange now. The grill had been turned off, and Amber had gone out at some point and got a fire started in a rock pit in the middle of their yard that had been built specifically for something like this. John had taken his spot near the fire, eating quietly already.

Morgan and Amber took up spots on either side of him, and the three friends started to eat together, simply enjoying the silence and the crackle of the fire. At some point, the rest had noticed the fire and come out as well. Each of them took their own spots, the excitement of the day draining away a bit.

The food disappeared, the plates were done away with, and the conversation started up. Palmer was the first to speak, looking at Morgan and Amber. "You guys got a nice place, you know that?"

Morgan chuckled. "I made it that way, Palmer."

Amber and Kris looked at Morgan, both of them with glimmers in their eyes. Amber cut in. "Had a little help from yours truly."

Morgan looked over at her, a knowing smile on her face. "Yeah, more than a little, actually. Kris got it all started and Amber made me keep going after that. Now, here we are."

Palmer shrugged. "Well, damn good thing they did. I could get used to this."

"I wouldn't count on it, Highroller," Morgan shot back jokingly.

That got a few of them to laugh, and the conversation kept going, flowing as if it had all been planned out in advance. Everybody seemed to be relaxed, happy with the day and its events, not to mention they were all full. What better than that?

Morgan sat there, Amber having scooted her chair closer, and the two had their hands intertwined as she looked around the circle. Paul and Helen were bickering about something, Palmer wasn't being helpful at all egging them both on, Kris and her husband were merely watching, amused. The rest of Vegas was refusing to support their leader. Finally, her eyes settled on John, and she saw that the AI chip had been pulled from his shirt, and he had his hand over it. But she noticed something else that seemed to dwarf the rest of it.

He was smiling. He was living a life like he always should have. He wasn't a warrior right now, he was just John.

That was enough for Morgan.

And here we are, at the end of this trip. Just like the other two stories, it's been fun writing this, and I've loved seeing it come into being the way it has, as well as seeing the support and even the reactions all of you have had.

Again, to those of you that have been here since the beginning, that have given me their thoughts and input on the story and how it's turned out, thank you. I honestly don't know if I would have gotten this far had I not had your support.

Additional thanks to my friend and the person who constantly put up with me and my antics while I wrote this and The Flame of Nobility. Arcade, whose twitter I've linked on my profile, has done plenty of work in helping me to bring Morgan to life. Music suggestions, an ear that he's loaned, and even drawing characters like Morgan, Amber, Admiral Greer, and more. Please go and give him a visit, see some of the other things I've had a hand or two in on his page, even just to say hello. He loves visitors.  He also had a part in this story to play, with Spartan Paul August being someone I created to give Morgan a right hand man, just like Arcade has been for me over the last year and a half.

But now, with this closed, I'll be focusing on completing Snapshots, and giving Morgan a nice bookmark until the day comes that I decide she needs more love.

Until that day, thank you all for reading this far, and for all the words you've said. Thank you for helping me become a better writer, and most of all, for helping me to write a story that I'm finally proud of.