Audax Novus

Chapter Eleven:: Turbulence in quoth ::

He glanced to Miranda again, subtly, with the barest tilt of his helmet, and watched her handling the weapon. She was comfortable with it in her grasp, but given the clothing that she had arrived on Caucasus with, John assumed that she usually didn't bear anything larger than a sub-machinegun platform.

His assessment of her skillset returned to his mind, and he wondered if she would continue to insist on staying on his mission. It did align with her own one; if her suggestions were anything to go by, his approach to unravelling the mystery and the threat of the Reapers was currently more productive than the mission that she'd been attached to previously.

'BDU's, combat armour, sniper system,' John determined what the raven-haired operative would need to be equipped with if she were to conduct ops with him again and he quietly snorted to himself inside his helmet, 'And scout sniper training?'

His eyes refocused after his seconds of silent thought and he found the woman in the middle of his studies with a similar head tilt to his own, looking up at him with a narrowed and interested gaze. He didn't know why, but it almost unnerved him that she was observant enough, like his Spartans, and Halsey, to notice his small body language tells.

"Yes?"

Her tone was crisp, expectant, and her lips pinched while her eyes remained narrowed. John glanced back to his suits radio sensor suite which he'd tuned after twenty minutes of marching through the dim repeatable ancient halls to find either the archaeologists or to identify any Cerberus squads.

He hadn't found any of the scientists, but thirty minutes ago he had picked up the unsecured radio chatter of several Cerberus squads coming down the shaft and into the ruins.

"You need better hardware."

Miranda's brow coalesced into a bemused form of curiosity, and her pinched lips turned into a half-serious smirk briefly before resuming the more neutral pleasant line with a soft upturn. "That's what you were thinking about? My hardware?"

He nodded once, "You said that you've worked on scientific and engineering research projects?"

Her eyes and brow remained bemused, if slightly curious, and she nodded, "Indeed, several dozen, to be precise."

"I'll help you design a new weapon system."

Her head tilted in thought, and her eyes turned more shrewd, "Does that mean that you want me to be a part of your team? I think we've both learned from this experience, that I am not suited to this kind of operation?"

John looked at her more fully, not having expected the prideful and stubborn individual to offer up that fact. Her face was just as composed as usual, and her swim through the river to join him over the strip-mine had washed away the grim, which, by the way she wore it, made John reasonably certain that she had never done any operation outside of an urban setting.

But she had deep bags under her eyes, mimicking the mascara that had been present with a far less appealing look. Lines had formed down her cheeks, and her nostrils were flaring more than usual at her breath, both signs of glycogen depletion. Without thinking on his action, John took his left hand from the handrail of the Mattock and compressed a small button on a compartment on his hip, and it popped open.

He retrieved one of the black wrapped sticks and paused to offer it to Miranda. She halted at the gesture with confusion on her face for a moment and looked from the offered black wrapper. "What is it?"

"Ration bar, you need it."

Miranda's lips parted, and the slight crinkling of her brow told John she was preparing to argue it, but then she closed her mouth and formed a small thankful smile. She lowered her Mattock and retrieved the wrapped goods and carefully tore it open.