The rhythmic pounding of my shoes against the pavement echoes in my ears as I set out on my morning run around the United Nations Security Council military base. The crisp morning breeze kisses my skin and picks up the odd leaf or two, dancing away in the air at the edge of my vision.
Despite my role as a scientific assistant under my mother, Dr Catherine Halsey, I choose to never neglect my training which consists of weights, cardio and weapon training. It's a routine that keeps me grounded amidst the chaos of my day-to-day life.
Running is my favourite, though. I relish these moments of solitude, where my worries seem to melt away with each steady beat of my footsteps.
As I weave through the maze of hangers and buildings, my gaze flits from one sight to another. Spacecrafts stand sentinel in their bays, while soldiers bustle about, their movements exuding purpose and determination. It's a scene I've grown accustomed to slowly over time, a snapshot of life amid an ongoing war with the Covenant.
Amidst the sea of troops engaging in their morning jog, traversing the opposite way I came, my eyes catch sight of a familiar face. Benjamin Reeves, with his trademark smirk and tousled light brown hair. He stands out like a beacon amongst the uniformed masses and I must stand out to him too, because his gaze snaps to mine.
Without a second thought, he breaks away from the throng with a grin plastered across his face. Hoots and hollers from his comrades follow his retreating form. He doesn't pay much mind to their teasing, moving with casual grace, effortlessly navigating his way over to me until he's jogging by my side.
I raise an eyebrow in amusement. "And what do you want?"
"Good morning to you too, Mak," he greets, his dark brown eyes honing in on me from my right.
My head swivels momentarily to his comrades jogging in the other direction.
"You're going to get in trouble, you know?" I puff out.
"Rules are made to be broken," he replies unconcerned. "Especially for you."
I can't help but roll my eyes at his attempt at a smooth line, though there's a certain warmness in my chest that arises at his flattery. Despite the casual arrangement we have going on, there's a sincerity in his words.
"You're incorrigible, Ben," I tell him, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
"You love it."
"I beg to differ," I protest.
He leans in close, his voice dropping to a low breathy suggestive murmur. "Oh, you do love to beg, don't you?"
I playfully shove him away. "You talk too much," I admonish, hoping the heat starting to rise to my cheeks passes as exertion.
He chuckles, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Ah, but Mak, it's all part of my charm."
I can't help but let out a breathless laugh. "I hate to admit it, but you might have a point," I concede, unable to deny the truth intertwined in his words.
Ben has a knack for pulling people out of their thoughts, drawing them away from the weight of their responsibilities, even if just for a moment. His presence is filled with lightness and joy that's as refreshing as it's rare.
We soon settle into a comfortable pace, our strides synchronising effortlessly as our feet find a steady rhythm. But true to form, Ben can't seem to stay quiet for long.
With a grin, he nudges my arm gently and breaks the silence. "You know, I was just thinking about the time I saved a whole platoon from a rogue Grunt ambush. Have I told you about that one?"
Ben has a flair for the dramatics, often spinning tales. Today seems to be no exception.
I raise an eyebrow at him curiously. "Another one of your legendary tales, I presume?"
"You bet," he replies. "This one's a real doozy, I promise."
And just like that, he launches into his story, painting a vivid image with his words. We stop jogging a quarterway through his story, opting to walk as he talks and I listen. His enthusiasm is infectious, and despite knowing that he tends to embellish his adventures a lot, I find myself hanging onto his every word.
But as he reaches the climax of his story, something doesn't quite add up. I squint my eyes at him, catching a discrepancy in his account.
"Wait a minute," I interrupt, slowing my pace slightly to glance at him. "Didn't you say that you were on patrol duty near the outskirts when the Grunt ambush happened?"
His expression falters for a split second, a telltale sign that he's been caught in his elaborate web. Poking holes in the fabric of his narratives until it unravels before my eyes is sometimes more enjoyable than his very real recounts. Before he can save face, I press him further, a mischievous smile spreading across my face.
"Because if I recall correctly," I continue in amusement, "the only time you have been on that planet, you were supposedly on a reconnaissance mission in a completely different location."
His eyes widen in mock surprise and he stops dead in his tracks."It must have been another planet then!" He slaps his forehead. "Sometimes the details get fuzzy in the retelling. I'm sorry about the confusion. We'll add that as another aspect of my charm, yes?"
"Yes, you're 'charm,' Ben. I'm well aware of it," I tease with a light laugh. My gaze falls from his eyes to the slight imperfection that adds character to his features. His nose, once broken and now set slightly askew. It catches the morning light in a way that's strangely mesmerising."Just like the way you charm your way out of telling people how you really broke your nose."
His grin turns sheepish as he sends me a knowing look, his left hand absentmindedly raising to his nose, his fingers skimming subconsciously over it. "Ah, the infamous nose incident."
"Yes, the 'infamous' nose incident."
"You know me, always been a bit of a rebel. No seat belt, a little too much speed, a sudden encounter with a solid object, and voila-"
"-You crash the Warthog, break your nose and dislocate your friends' shoulder," I finish for him. I wince as I momentarily reminisce about the private conversation that occurred shortly after between my father and Ben. Perhaps that's why he avoids the real story. Or, it's simply just his penchant for embellishment."You're lucky it wasn't worse."
"Well, you know what they say, Mak," he says with a wink. "Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse."
"And what about me in that situation?" I gasp in fake outrage.
"Two good-looking corpses?" he suggests.
"You're terrible, you know that right?" I ask him, though there's a warmth in my voice that belies my words.
A faint buzz interrupts our shared smile, emanating from the electronic watch strapped to my wrist. I glance down to see the display lit up in urgency- a message from my mother, commanding my immediate presence at the lab.
"Thy mother requests thy presence," I sigh aloud.
I shoot her a short text that says, 'Okay.'
Ben nods his head in understanding. "Duty calls. I get it. We're heading the same way right?"
That's right. Ben has to go and catch up with his squad.
"Yes, I guess so," I snicker.
Suddenly, he bolts past me and shouts out, "Last one back is a rotten egg!"
His yell attracts the attention of some engineers, who momentarily halt their welding to see what the fuss is about.
I can't help but grin at the retreating form of the man-child. I propel myself forward, seeking to catch up to him.
I swipe my pass on the door, and it slides with a soft whoosh, revealing the expansive laboratory beyond. The subtle sterile scent of disinfectant hits my nose as I step inside, my eyes drawn to the two figures gathered around the bench with a holographic display of a spartan in armour on top of it. The room is dim, and not blinding to my retinas for once. Cerulean blue light emits from the large screen, bathing the two white-cloaked figures and the room.
As I approach, Halsey looks away from the screen to me, her sharp blue eyes running over my attire briefly. I had taken a quick shower after my run, throwing on the closest articles of clothing before donning my lab coat. She's exuding confidence, as always, with every strand of her sleek blonde hair perfectly in place, a stark contrast to my dishevelled braids.
"Makayla, you're just in time," she greets, her tone brisk yet welcoming.
My relationship with my mother is more professional than maternal, a dynamic born out of her commitment to her work. We've never been the type to exchange hugs or heartfelt sentiments, but I understand to a certain extent that her dedication to her research is her way of showing how much she cares. She wants to safeguard humanity's future. Protect and preserve, no matter the cost.
My nonidentical twin doesn't see it the way I do. Miranda has always had a different perspective. To her, our mother's dedication to her work is a sign of neglect, a failure to prioritise her role as a mother over her ambitions as a scientist. I don't completely disagree with Miranda's outlook, but sometimes I find the colourful words she uses a bit harsh.
She gestures to the empty spot on her left with the tilt of her head. "Come."
I come to a stop beside her, my eyes falling on the holographic spartan projected on the table. But it's not just any spartan. It's the armour of John-117, the legendary spartan known as the Master Chief. He's become one of the most prominent figures of the Human-Covenant War raging on outside Reach right now. He's a symbol, a larger-than-life figure emblazoned on war posters and propaganda throughout the galaxy, a silent sentinel of hope in the face of adversity.
"I'm glad you could finally join us, Makayla," Adun, a fellow assistant, speaks upon Halsey's other side.
I catch the smugness in his voice. 'Finally?' I wasn't even supposed to come in until later today. I avert my eyes from the hologram, meeting his beady little eyes. His appearance suggests that he doesn't have much going on outside of work- unlike me, who tries to balance a training regimen with my research duties. Adun, on the other hand, seems content to spend all his hours pouring over data and simulations. I can't even imagine this man successfully sprinting a few hundred metres without somehow miraculously twisting his ankle. Despite his attempt to undermine me to assert his importance in Halsey's eyes, I refuse to let Adun's words affect me further.
I plaster on an overly sweet smile. "I'm glad I could make it too."
He preens with self-satisfaction and neither of us breaks our eye contact, locked in a silent battle of wills. He grins at me, teeth bared.
"Now, pay close attention, both of you," Halsey begins, gesturing to the screen on the wall. Adun's eyes are the first to avert away, and a sense of satisfaction swells within me. "Silver team were dispatched to Madrigal on a critical mission to stop the Covenant attacks on an Insurrectionist outpost located there." She presses a button and the body cam video plays on the wall. "Silver team stumbled across a cave system, which led John to discover an object- an artefact of unknown origin. And when he made contact with it..."
The video shows the once dormant object coming to life under John's touch. A deep blue glow emanates from its core, casting an ethereal light around itself. Symbols begin to materialise in the air around it, forming a mesmerising circle or intricate patterns and glyphs that seem to pulsate with unexplained power.
The plated armour on the hologram beneath me dissipates in a shimmer, revealing an outline of John's body overlaid with a complex network of nerve endings. My breath catches in my throat as I watch, enraptured by the intricate display of neural activity happening.
"Bio-metrics are all over the map," Adun points out in awe.
My eyes roam over the data displayed on the table. "His body temperature increased and his lymphatics... they were ignited."
"Elevated activity in his hypothalamus and pineal glands," Halsey analyses, completely intrigued. "Look, look." She nudges me softly with the side of her body, her intense gaze set on the hologram. "The energy pulse is stimulating his connective tissue."
"All this from contact with a piece of rock?" Adun mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.
My attention returns to the video playing on the screen, focusing on the artefact embedded in the cave wall. How could something so seemingly insignificant have the potential to exude such a magnitude of power from just a single touch?
"Does the relic react to just anyone's touch?" I ask, my tone filled with intrigue.
"Negative," she answers.
So, it has a certain infinity to John's touch? How peculiar. This alien technology... it could be what we need to turn the tide of the war in our favour.
"Do we have it in our possession yet?"
"Not yet. John ordered silver team to commandeer their other ship back to fleet-com for research and intel. He chose to retrieve the object and follow in the Condor."
I frown at this revelation and steal a glance at Halsey. "Alone?"
"Alone," she confirms, peering at me from the corner of her eye.
"But, that's against protocol," I point out, caught completely off guard by the situation and the sudden gleam in her eye.
John's unorthodox behaviour makes me feel a twinge of confusion. In any other circumstance, going against protocol would be cause for concern, perhaps even alarm. However, instead of Halsey sharing my outlook or expressing worry, she seems fascinated, almost excited by the prospect.
"I'm well aware of that fact," she mutters lowly, her mind undoubtedly racing with possibilities. Her gaze shifts to Adun. "Has he said anything?"
"No."
"How long until he's back?" she presses.
"Better part of a day."
With John's imminent arrival, I realise that I'm going to be on call to work all day, possibly into the night. A sense of resignation washes over me as I come to terms with the long hours ahead of me.
"Okay," she sighs, pacing away to the centre of the room. "Sierra 1.1.7."
"Connecting," the computerised voice says over the intercom.
"Dr. Halsey. Status report," she orders once it's connected.
The familiar timbre of John's deep and resonant voice fills the room, "Returning from Twenty-Three Librae, Planet Madrigal, with a single survivor. Covenant disarmed, one escapee."
"And your neural lace metrics, any anomalies?" she probes subtly.
There's a short pause before he responds. "I saw things... when I touched the object."
"What kind of things?" she asks, intrigue lacing her tone.
"Woods. A white dog. A family."
How fascinating. Halsey's demeanour remains composed, her expression betraying little emotion as she absorbs his words. But it's Adun's reaction that piques my interest. From his spot a few paces away from me, he suddenly stiffens, his posture rigid as his neck snaps in Halsey's direction. They both share a look- a fleeting moment of silent communication.
A surge of confusion rises within me. What's with Adun's extra weird behaviour right now?
"Family?" she repeats back.
"That's what it felt like," he replies.
"Okay, John..." she softly says, "Until we know more about that object, I'd like you to keep your distance from it."
"Copy that."
"You've been through a lot, John. So, whatever's happened, you get yourself back here and we will sort it out, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," he curtly responds.
"Sierra out."Once the intercom beeps off, she throws a serious look at Adun. "I need live updates every ten minutes streamed to me, and when he lands, you both bring him straight here."
Adan and I nod our heads in unison. "Yes ma'am."
She gives both our shoulders a brief, appreciative pat. "Okay."
When she eventually dismisses us for lunch, I still haven't shaken the feeling of unease from the strange look they exchanged hours ago. Once Adun leaves with his nose glued close to his datapad, I turn to Halsey, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
"What was that look about during the intercom?" I question her from the opposite side of the table. "It was... odd."
She doesn't look up at me, her eyes set on the statistics dancing across the hologram. "It's nothing, Makayla," she replies dismissively.
Despite her attempt to brush off the strange exchange, I remain unconvinced. "It didn't look like 'nothing,'" I persist.
Her eyes rise from the table with her usual calm demeanour, her expression betraying nothing. "You're reading too much into it," she explains gently, offering me a small encouraging smile. "Now off you go to lunch. We have a long day ahead and I have a meeting to attend to..." she looks down at her watch, "very shortly."
I reluctantly agree to myself to table the conversation... for now. As much as I want answers, I know better than to push further. She may be my mother, but she's also my superior, and there's a certain level of respect and deference that accompanies that. With a strained smile, I nod in acceptance and heed her wishes.
When Miranda doesn't turn up for lunch at our usual spot in the cafeteria, I shoot her a quick message. Her response is short, mentioning that she wasn't hungry and working in the xenobiology lab. Very unlike Miranda, and that's even considering the stomach-turning nature of her nasty work. Dissecting aliens certainly could kill anyone's appetite. However, it hadn't killed it before. I finish my meal hastily, grab two hot coffees from the machine and set out to find her.
I take a moment to survey my surroundings. The xenobiology lab is a sterile and clinical environment, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare over everything. The air is heavy with antiseptic and chemicals. Large glass jars are displayed in various parts of the room, each containing a preserved specimen of Covenant aliens- elites, grunts, and even the occasional jackal. Some are whole, while others are in pieces. Right now on the dissection bed lays an elite, where multiple scientists are using various tools and instruments to dissect parts of its large body to examine. The whirr of an electric saw buzzes in my peripheral and I look away from it with a grimace. Gross. The memory of my most recent meal- a flavourful stir fry- suddenly rushes back to me and it makes my stomach churn.
It doesn't take much longer to locate my sister. She's sat in the far right corner of the lab, right next to a metal bench filled with equipment. She's hunched over a data pad with a mysterious glob of alien carcass on a dish to her right. I suppress my urge to gag aloud.
I ignore the seat on her right and take the spot on her left, setting the two coffees down and avoiding making eye contact with the offensive body part.
"Rough day in the lab?" I ask her gently, taking note of the scowl present on her face.
"Not exactly. Some stuff went down outside of the lab."
"Outside of the lab?"
"Yes." She looks up from her datapad and eyes the coffee I've set down in front of us. "You know we're only allowed water in here, Mak."
I bite the bottom of my lip in slight guilt. She's right- I remember her reminding me once about the strict rule against bringing food and drinks into the lab. It's a precautionary measure, meant to minimise the risk of contamination.
But in the hustle and bustle of lunch, I must have let it slip my mind. "I'm sorry, Mir. It won't happen again."
Her expression softens. "I appreciate the thought behind it, though."
"Heard you played politician today with the rebel girl," the familiar voice of my father says from behind us.
"Dad, I tried," she corrects him with a sigh, getting up from her seat and moving the mystery meat on the dish to a different metal bench. "I sucked up my pride and I gave it my best."
"I believe you," he says solemnly, standing beside me, his high-ranking uniform an anomaly in the lab.
Rebel girl? Could that be the sole survivor from Madrigal John mentioned? A glass with blue shimmering liquid is set down on the table, and I raise my eyes to find that Dad has another one grasped in his hand. Is that hard liquor he's brought in here? Shit. The discussion must have gone south.
"Selling Dr. Halsey's Spartans to a rebel, of all people," she muses as she sits glumly back down. "As if Halsey would ever do a thing to promote me."
"Mir," I murmur with an uncomfortable frown.
"It's true," she argues in a clipped tone.
"That's not entirely fair," Dad laments.
"Please don't. Don't defend her." She shakes her head from side to side in disagreement. "She's done nothing but throw roadblocks in my way."
"Halsey's always been single-minded," Dad tries to explain. No matter how many times we have this talk, Miranda remains steadfast in her conviction. "Work is the only thing that matters. I made my peace with that a long time ago. It's nothing personal."
"'Nothing personal' isn't a great excuse when it's your mom," she mutters. I silently agree with her in my mind. She has a point. Her gaze drops to the new addition to the contraband drink collection. "Seriously, Dad? You and Mak are so goddamn alike sometimes."
"Like father, like daughter," I tease with the wiggle of my brows.
"I thought you might've needed a pick me up," he shrugs innocently with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I snort at his response. My sentiments with my hot coffee exactly. "You know..." he trails off, walking to the empty dissection bed. "You both are a lot like her."
Miranda and I swivel our chairs away from the bench to face him. He leans casually against the bed with his back, resting his elbow on it.
She scoffs and her mood darkens. "Ouch."
"I meant that as a compliment."
I send a meaningful look to my father to can it. Right now isn't the time to press her. It's clear that she's not in the mood to listen to him sing praises on our once absent mother. The only thing this conversation would achieve right now would be the provocation of her ire.
"Anyways..." I trail off, hoping we can move on.
Miranda is more than happy to oblige. "I'm guessing the UNSC isn't about to grant Madrigal complete independence."
Dad's soft features subside into a more serious expression. His eyes which are normally bright with warmth and humour, now hold a hit of concern.
"Mhm-hm."
"So what happens now, to the girl?" she questions.
"That's what I came over here to tell you... and I guess you now as well."
"Tell us what exactly?" I ask warily.
"Kwan Ha, the rebel girl, was badly wounded in the alien attack on Madrigal. Despite our best efforts, she succumbed to her injuries."
A pang of sorrow gnaws at my heart."Oh, that's terrible."
"N-No Mak." She shakes her profusely at me in denial. "I spoke to her and she was fine." Her eyes dart to Dad. "What- what injuries?"
He doesn't respond.
Dread rolls through me. "Dad?"
His grave face and lack of response speak volumes. Miranda and I share a look of horror as realisation dawns on both of us. Miranda couldn't secure a deal with the girl, so the UNSC's response was to dispose of her. How entirely barbaric of them.
"You didn't order an Article 72," Miranda manages to whisper, her voice thick with emotion.
"Came from up top," Dad elucidates, his tone heavy with guilt and regret. "I wanted you to personally hear it from me."
"And you're okay with this?" I harshly ask standing up. "Surely there were people on the board who disagreed with this decision."
Dad regards the both of us solemnly."It's not about being okay."
"No," she seethes, rising from her seat beside me, her voice becoming low and intense. "It's about keeping the deuterium flowing, regardless of the cost."
Dad straightens his back, rising to his full height. His expression becomes hard as he looks down at us.
"It's not that simple," he says darkly.
"It is that simple!" Miranda declares, her voice ringing with conviction. "It's-it's an Article 72. We're murdering a teenage girl... and I'm complicit."
"We're in a war, girls. The future of humanity-"
"-What's the point in saving humanity if we're going to give up our own?" she murmurs hopelessly, her eyes glistening with emotion.
He meets her gaze with a steely resolve, his expression unreadable. "Sometimes you have to make hard choices to get good results," he coldly reasons.
The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air- his avocation for a decision that is intrinsically and morally abhorrent. I have always looked up to him and respected him as a leader and a role model. But at this moment in time, I find myself questioning everything I think I know about him.
"Does it make it easier to sleep at night when you tell yourself that?" I probe bitterly.
He doesn't reply, his jaw set in a stubborn line. But beneath his stoic facade, I can see a flicker of doubt. I don't wait around for his response and choose to walk away from him, disappointment in him clouding my mind.
"Now who's sounding like Halsey?" I hear Miranda snipe from behind me.
She quickly catches up to me, and she falls into step beside me. I wrap a comforting arm around her waist as we walk out, drawing the side of her warm body close to mine.
"It's not your fault, Miranda," I try to reassure her, my voice gentle but firm.
I can already tell she's blaming herself for the young girls' unfortunate fate.
Her head turns to face me, and I can see the anguish reflected in her doe eyes. "I should have done more to convince her."
"You did all you could. Don't let the guilt lie on your shoulders. After all, you weren't the one to give the order."
As the Warthog cuts through the dark air base, I can't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. Ben's driving, though skilful, is accompanied by his usual reckless abandon, his foot heavy on the pedal as we speed across the concrete to our destination.
I glance over at him. His hair is being tousled by the wind, and a smile is present on the corner of his lip.
"Remind me again, Ben," I say, my voice laced with mock exasperation. "What did I do to deserve you as my driver?" I look in the rearview mirror, finding an empty seat and a soldier named Alice. Adun was supposed to be with us. However, at the last minute, he was summoned to the war room by Halsey. His shit-eating grin had made my skin prickle with envy. I catch Alice's blue eyes in the mirror. "Did someone put out a hit on me?" I question loudly over the roar of the engine. "You can tell me the truth."
Ben barks out a laugh. "The truth is, nobody wanted to put up with you."
I'm about to retort back to him, but my response dies in my throat as I hear and see the commotion of troops echoing through the cavernous space of one of the hangers.
The hanger that is our destination.
Soldiers rush out in full attire, weapons in hand, while jets roar to life in our surroundings. A shiver runs down my spine and a knot of anxiety tightens my chest, constricting my breath as I witness the fighter jets speeding and rising into the night sky, disappearing into the darkness.
"What's going on?" I ask, my voice tinged with concern as I watch the chaos unfold before us.
Ben slows the vehicle down and navigates us carefully inside the hanger, weaving around squadrons of troops rushing out.
Alice leans forward from the back of the vehicle, walkie-talkie in hand. "Master Chief has been compromised." Could this be the artefacts doing? Or is this just more bullshit being spun by the higher-ups to fit their controlled narrative? "Our orders are to neutralise him."
A scowl settles over my features as I try and grapple with the weight of the order. Memories flood my mind, tracing back to a time when I was a child, wide-eyed and captivated by a teenage John.
First, the UNSC ordered to neutralise an innocent girl and now they order a neutralisation on the very soldier who has been our greatest beacon of hope in the war against the Covenant. How can they so callously cast aside all that he's done for us, all the sacrifices he's made on our behalf? The very idea fills me with a fury that makes my fists clench. My nails dig into my palms as I try and contain the storm of emotions rising within me.
Once the vehicle comes to a stop, I jump out, my trembling fingers dancing on the screen of my watch as I call Halsey. It rings and rings until finally, she picks up.
Her voice emanates from my earpiece. "Halsey here."
I stop pacing and stand rigid in my spot. "What's happening?" I blurt out, my question tumbling from my lips in a rush.
There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, the sound of static filling the silence. "I'm sending the Spartans to protect and secure John," she whispers, her voice tight with tension. "I'm superseding the orders. There are other available solutions."
I can't help but admire her decisive action to protect him. A sigh of relief leaves me and my tense shoulders relax, but only minutely.
"I have to head back into the war room. Stay safe and don't directly engage. Observe and then report back to me. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She hangs up, leaving me alone to my thoughts and the thick tension of the hanger.
"What'd she say?" Ben queries from the vehicle.
He's leaning against the front of it, arms folded and forehead creased in worry.
I clear my throat."We're to observe the altercation and then report to Halsey."
Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, each breath drawn with bated breath as everyone's gaze is fixed on the vast expanse of the night sky. My eyes dart from one point to another, scanning the dark void for any sign of movement. I'm standing on the passenger seat of the Warthog, taking advantage of some height to get a clear view.
I hear them before I see them. The faint roar of engines echoes through the night, growing louder with each passing second. And then, they appear. The Condor flies toward the air base, escorted by the fighter jets.
As they draw closer, the fighter jets disengage, giving the Condor space to make a landing. But instead of landing, the Condor just hovers in the air, a looming silhouette against the backdrop of the stars. Unease settles over me. Why hasn't it landed yet?
A voice crackles from Alice's walkie-talkie. "Ship is in manual flight mode. Be ready for pulse."
I watch, helpless, as the ship is pulsed, falling inexorably toward the ground. My ears ring from the shot, and I watch as the vessel meets the concrete with a bone-rattling force that dents and twists the metal on the outside of the vessel.
There's a flurry of activity as troops approach the fallen ship with caution, their movements slow and deliberate with their guns poised. A small crew advance to the entrance of the ship, tools in hand to forcefully pry their way in.
My attention diverts to three towering armed figures striding forward with purpose to the fallen ship. Troops stand aside quickly, the Spartans' presence demanding respect. They easily allow Kai-125, Vennek-134 and Riz-028 to cut through to the front.
My heart pounds in my chest, and there's a growing sense of apprehension gnawing at the edges of my mind as I try and prepare myself for the situation that's about to unfold. I don't get the luxury to ponder much longer on the multiple ways this altercation can play out as suddenly there's a flash.
A pulse of pure energy erupts from the ship, casting a dazzling glow that spreads outward, crackling and hissing as it cuts through the air like a bolt of lightning. It's a sight to behold, leaving me breathless with wonder as my skin prickles from the unexplainable force that vibrates through my body.
In an instant, power is siphoned away from the base, leaving us all shrouded in darkness.
"What the fuck?" Ben curses from somewhere below me.
His confused state is one of many in the hangar, as troops begin to panic. But amidst the turmoil, one beacon of light remains.
John's ship is glowing with otherworldly brilliance, its engines roaring to life once more.
It's a strong contrast to the darkness I'm currently bathing in, and I can't help but let out a laugh. It's not a sound of amusement, nor is it one of bitterness. Instead, it's a laugh born of disbelief, of incredulity of John somehow beating the insurmountable odds stacked against him once again. It's a role he seems destined to play, a symbol of resilience and determination in the face of trepidation. I marvel at the irony of it all.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I watch John blast the Condor into the night sky.