Matt-038 (Halo Fanfiction)

Chapter 46: 343 Guilty Spark

Author's Note: If you have any tips writing tips, please feel free to comment.

Again, I gratefully accept constructive criticism as a means to help me develop my skills further as a writer.

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Chapter 46: 343 Guilty Spark

Location: Surface of Halo

D +60:33:54 (SPARTAN-II Blue Team Mission Clock)

"There's a large tower a few hundred meters from your current position," Foehammer said over the radio. "Find a way above the fog and foliage canopy and I can move in and pick you up."

"Roger that," Crystal replied, "we're on our way."

Knowing the dropship was somewhere above the mist, and eager to get the hell out, the Marines forged ahead. The Spartans cautioned them to slow down, to keep their eyes peeled, but it wasn't long before the duo found themselves back toward the middle of the pack.

The tower Foehammer had mentioned appeared up ahead. The base of the column was circular, with half-rounded supports that protruded from the sides, probably for stability. Farther up, extending out from the column itself, were winglike platforms. Their purpose wasn't clear, but the same could be said for the entire structure. The top of the shaft was lost in the mist.

Matt paused to look around, heard one of the leathernecks yell "Contact!" quickly followed by the staccato rip of an assault weapon fired on full automatic. A host of red dots had appeared on the Spartan's threat indicator. He saw a dozen of the spherical infection forms bounce out of the mist and knew that any possibility of containing the creatures underground had been lost.

Matt fired short bursts from his assault weapon, popped dozens of the alien pods, and turned to confront a combat form. It was armed with a plasma pistol but chose to throw itself forward rather than fire. Matt's automatic weapon was actually touching the creature when he pulled the trigger. The ex-Elite's chest opened like an obscene flower and the infection form hidden within exploded into fleshy pieces.

He heard a burst of static in his comm system. Interference whined as the MJOLNIR's powerful communications gear tried to scrub the signal, to no avail. It sounded like Foehammer, but he couldn't be sure.

"Crystal, can you clear up the comms?" Matt asked.

"I'm working on it," she replied. "But it's much harder than usual. It's almost like someone... or something is trying to stop me."

"Well try harder," the Chief said.

"You two focus on killing weird unknown alien zombies and I'll try harder on getting the comms cleared up," Crystal snapped back. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a perfectly good idea with me," Matt said.

"Sounds fine with me," the Chief said.

The tide of hostiles fell back into the ankle-deep water and regrouped. A dozen exotic-looking cylindrical machines drifted out of the trees to float over the clearing. The nearest Marine yelled, "What are they?" and was about to shoot at them when the Chief raised a cautionary hand. "Hold on, Marine... let's see what they do."

What happened next was both unexpected and gratifying. Each machine produced a beam of energy, speared one of the hostiles, and burned it down.

Some of the combat forms took exception to this treatment, and attempted to return fire, but were soon put out of action by the combined efforts of the Marines and their newfound allies.

Despite the help, the Marines didn't fare well. There were just too many of the hostile creatures around. The squad dwindled until a pair of PFCs remained, then one, then finally the last of the Marines fell beneath a cluster of the little infectious bastards.

As the newcomers overhead rained crimson laser fire on a cluster of the combat forms, the Spartans slogged through the swamp toward the tower. High ground—and the possibility of signaling Foehammer for evac—drew them on.

They climbed a supporting strut and pulled themselves onto one of the odd, leaflike terraces that ringed the tower. Matt had a good field of fire, and he fired a burst into a combat form that strayed too close.

Matt tried the radio again but was rewarded with more static.

"Still nothing," Matt said. "Still a lot of static. Keep trying Crystal."

"I am," she replied. "Do you want to do this yourself?"

"No," Matt said.

"Well shut up and let me do the work I need to do."

"Hold up," the Chief interrupted. "Do you hear that?"

The Spartans heard what sounded like someone humming and turned to discover that another machine had approached them from behind. Where the other newcomers were cylindrical in design, with angular, winglike cowlings, this construct was rounded, almost spherical. It had a single, glowing blue eye, a wraparound housing, and a cheerfully businesslike manner.

"Greetings! I am the Monitor of installation zero-four. I am 343 Guilty Spark. Someone has released the Flood. My function is to prevent it from leaving this installation. I require your assistance. Come this way."

The voice sounded artificial. This "343 Guilty Spark" was some kind of artificial construct, the Spartans realized. From above the little machine, Matt could see Foehammer's Pelican moving into position.

"Monitor?" Crystal inquired. "What's a monitor?"

"What the hell are the Flood?" Matt asked.

"Hold on," the Chief replied, trying to sound friendly. "The Flood? Those things down there are called 'Flood'?"

"Of course," 343 Guilty Spark replied a note of confusion in its synthesized voice. "What an odd series of questions. We have no time for this, Reclaimers."

'Reclaimers?' Matt wondered. He was about to ask what the little machine meant by that, but his words never came. Rings of pulsating gold light traveled the length of his body, he felt light-headed and saw an explosion of white light.

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