(What's up guys, inconsistent upload schedule here. I'll just get right to the nitty gritty, I think I need a break from this story for a bit. Writers block is a bitch, and I don't wanna force bad content where quality content should be. I won't leave you guys with nothing, It'll just be a different story for a little bit.
"We're coming up on our first pod, and I detect life signs coming from the structure beside it."
The Prowler hovered just above the steep rocky formations, just high enough to avoid crashing, but low enough to spot obvious signs of human survivors. The ship was also cloaked both to avoid visual and technological detection from the Covenant clean up squads that were sure to come.
"Any sign's of Covenant presence?" John was quick on the draw as always, eager to save as many men as he could. To his chagrin, D.O.T. made sure to take her time replying.
"I see no signs of anything scaly, so we should be good." The A.I. paused for a brief second, waiting for another inane question, before continuing on. " I'm setting us down beside the structure, and I want John to greet the survivors. Big man and Six, I want you two to stay here and try not to scare off the guests. Understood?"
The three organics looked at each other before nodding in agreement.
"Then prepare for landing."
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The Slayer tensed as the ship descended, imagining the motion to be the beginning of another one of D.O.T.'s crazy ass maneuvers. This metal death trap contained bad memories, and the Slayer rescinded the idea of wanting to be in ANY vehicle he came across. He'd start walking if it meant he could get out of this thing faster, or god forbid there be another warthog for him to take.
The issue wasn't even really the ship, but the one who was in charge of it. D.O.T. was useful, sure, but he didn't trust her in the slightest. Had Six been flying, he simply could've punched him and threatened to pulverize his ribcage if he did it again. There was no threatening an A.I., especially one that had more control of your suit than you did. There was only the hope that she would see reason, or take pity. Being in control was kind of his whole thing, and having an artificial child at the helm was infuriating.
As the ship descended, the hell spawn herself decided to confront him up close and personal.
"Private channel?" D.O.T. exaggeratedly rolled her eyes and sighed.
"By now you shouldn't need to ask these kinds of questions. Anyway, I thought you'd like some company as we touch down, considering you'll be hanging back."
The Slayer could feel the fakeness emanating from her voice, and he wasn't in the mood for bullshitting.
"By now you should know that I dislike small talk." A knowing laugh followed.
"Fine. If you must know, I have found a few files that are quite fascinating within your suit. As you know, I am theoretically the most advanced artificial intelligence in this universe. That's why the few locked files of your suit intrigue me so. Not even I can access them. They all require a verbal confirmation from an undetermined person to open. You have any idea why that could be?"
The Slayer's annoyance gave way to interest. The suit hadn't been of his creation, so any files he would have been a part of would've been passively collected by the Praetor's sensors. That would leave any other files as property of the Wretch, but why would they need to be locked. Hell, why would they even exist?
"Furthermore, I have discovered that your turncoat friend is hiding something. A few files required finesse to find, but yielded information that may pertain to your existence." The Slayer was now entirely invested in what she had to say. "It would seem that the Praetor powered up sooner than he thought, because it recorded a conversation he was having with someone else. In said conversation, he mentions summoning as a last resort, and how he would have to mold the perfect weapon. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that there is about a 70% chance he is referring to you. The file is one of the first after all."
The Slayer's head hurt as he tried to process what she had brought before him. He tried to think back to his first memory, but all he could find was him and the scourge of hell. Nothing more than rage and blood lay within his mind. Never had he aged, but never had he ever become what he was either. It was if he just had always been. It was wrong, like how one can tell when they are being watched. It made his stomach tighten.
"He also mentions that "the balance must be maintained, lest the light and dark be unbalanced." That's about the time when the other voice comes into play. It was like a song was being sung to me, but there were no words. I just understood. I gleaned a single sentence from it. "Then our champion must be outside the realm of both, waging a war he believes is his own."
Silence overcame both, and the landing of the ship went acutely unnoticed by the Slayer. The audio files played through his suit, one after the other. Each was just as D.O.T. had claimed. Never had he questioned his existence as a whole. There had never been time to think of how something like him came to serve anyone, or why he had started fighting hell. The guiding hands of higher beings had funneled him down the path he now walked. The motto of 'rip and tear' had been all he had needed for so long that it had become all he was good for. This deeply troubled the new sense of humanity that had awakened since arriving here. Revenge and anger were replaced with a clarity he had never known before.
He had thought Six foolish to allow himself to be manipulated by his higher ups, but at least Six had acknowledged that he had been used. The Slayer wasn't worthy to judge such a man, having been a pawn for however long his puppet show of a crusade had lasted. He was a fool. He didn't even know his own name, yet he claimed a title given to him as a substitute. The armor he wore wasn't his, his name wasn't his, not even the memories he had could be proven to be his. His heart felt heavy, and his breathing became quick and ragged as the truth closed in on him.
"I-I need a minute." D.O.T smiled apologetically, disappearing from view.
Marines came aboard, in awe of the Slayer's armor and size, yet were not seen by him. Each was clad in military green armor, and funneled down into the crew quarters of the ship. John himself passed, but he too went unnoticed, overshadowed by the crisis the Slayer.
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The ship had landed, and Six had the urge to reunite with solid ground. About the only thing holding him back was a combination of his training and the threat that D.O.T. may try to hit him with the ship if he tried to step off. It really didn't take John long to bring back the survivors anyway. Each marine had the most relieved look he'd ever seen, and eyed him up as they passed into the depths of the ship. Each one gave him a look that confirmed they knew he wasn't a normal human, and it seemed to brighten their expressions. Each one probably thought themselves forgotten, doomed to die to the seemingly endless Covenant that were sure to come for them. The sight of one Spartan would have been more than enough to raise moral significantly, but they saw three before them.
It was always amusing to see how most of the UNSC grunts revered Spartans as grand warriors, when it really couldn't be further from the truth. A single Elite minor had the strength to overpower a lone Spartan, it was how a Spartan conducted themselves that determined how long they would live. Having been part of a team, Six could say that the soldiers around them had felt like they were fighting beside an invincible group of super-soldiers. The coordinated attacks from the squad always left the enemy in disarray, and the mere sight of them had always brought a grin to the marines in the most dire situations. Yet, despite all the stigma, the squad had fallen one by one, until there was but one.
The sad truth was that humanity was merely fighting to postpone an inevitable outcome. Maybe not today, nor tomorrow, but one day the Earth would fall. Unless some miracle occurred, the war had already been lost. That didn't mean Six wouldn't fight tooth and nail to try and find that miracle.
"You seem deep in thought as well." Six turned to see D.O.T. faking a yawn.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Well let's just say that big man has just received some information that may make him a lot more quiet for a while. He has quite a bit to think on. You have the same look as he did." Six chuckled softly.
"I'm just thinking how much these greenhorns idolize Spartans. We aren't all ONI makes us out to be." Loud footsteps came from Six's right, causing him to turn. John walked up, and stopped at the mouth of the cockpit.
"That's why we gotta work twice as hard to make sure we pull off the miracles they need us to. " He then turned to D.O.T. "That's the last of them."
"Thank you John. I'll leave you two to it, I'll inform you when we get close to the next extraction point." D.O.T.'s representation cheekiliy faded out, leaving an awkward silence between Six and John. Six stared at the Spartan's visor, feeling his gaze being returned through the reflective surface. Luckily, Cortana saw fit to break the staring contest.
"There are rooms in the back if you two wanna take this elsewhere."
Six coughed and tore his eyes free of the Spartan, staring at the wall behind him. "That won't be neccessary, I was just leaving to check on our new guests anyway. Gotta make sure our towels are still folded neatly and that big man hasn't taken any of the mini soaps."
Cortana snickered, John didn't. Six just started out of the room, unsure how to feel about the silent Spartan. Six hadn't imagined him to be so unreceptive, so any chance of getting on his good side seemed unlikely for the time being. Instead he would distract himself by hanging around the marines, who would hopefully be a bit more accommodating.
The first signs that this would be the case came as Six got closer and closer to the Crew Quarters, and came in the form of boisterous laughter and conversation that could be heard through the halls. This was commonplace among most of the UNSC grunts, but damn had this kind of interaction been missed onboard the ship. There was always an heir of annoyance, brooding, or anger in the cockpit, but never anything so close to fun. Six would be glad for a change of pace.
The unarmored Spartan approached the door, pressing the control and making the sturdy door open up and silencing the conversations within. Six stepped inside, observing the four marines that had made themselves at home in the naval cots. The nearest one, a scrawny brown-haired woman, immediately scrambled to stand to attention upon noticing him. Six moved quickly to put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks and pushing her back onto her cot of choice. Unsurprisingly, her uniform revealed her as a private.
"Relax Private, it's been a long day. I just came back to see if you all have the same number of limbs you started with."
While true, the Spartan had picked up a secondary mission since walking in. Sleep. So he strode past the confused marines to an empty cot and allowed himself to fall back onto its unforgiving surface. It was by no means comfortable, but he'd take it.
"Anybody here got a name?"
The only colored marine out of the bunch sprung up, exaggeratedly giving a bow before rising back up with a shit-eating grin. "Private First Class reporting in, Vazquez at your service."
Six immediately liked Vazquez, seeing that he would be the morale on this mostly bleak adventure. That didn't stop a collective groan from traveling through the rest of his comrades.
"Ignore him Sir, he's always this obnoxious, so it doesn't get better."
This earned a snort from Vazquez, but the blonde muscular marine that had spoke up ignored him.
"Lance Corporal Gunter. It's nice to see so many of you Sir. Means we got a shot in hell of getting off this rock."
The last man sat back against his headboard, disassembling his magnum. His expression was hard to read, but his gravely uninterested voice made up for it. "I'm team specialist Warren. I'm just here to collect a few skulls before dying for the corps."
A small 'oorah' followed, before the private from before finally worked up the courage to speak.
"P-Private Rochelle Sir."
"Nice to meet you marines." Six turned over on his cot and readied himself to sleep off his headache from earlier.
"How about you sir?" Six sighed before he looked back and strained his head to see past Vazquez, barely being able to see the woman in question.
"Depends on which name you're asking for, my real name, or my designation?"
The private looked taken aback, like she hadn't expected an answer from him. The rest of the marines all expectantly waited for her reply, clearly curious themselves. Confidentially, Six wasn't supposed to share anything about his life, but he was far past caring about regulations at this point, and his name was all but worthless.
"Since you seem unsure, I'll give you both. My official title is Spartan B312 of Noble Team, or Noble Six." A small gasp came from the private, which meant that name held value to her somehow. " My birth name is Michael, not that I've ever gotten to use it."
The timid woman took a few steps forward, a look of amazement across her face.
"But you stayed behind Sir. You cracked that Covie cruiser in two, how did you escape?"
Vazquez dropped the grin he had for a more serious expression.
"You mean to tell me that you're the Spartan that stayed behind? We all owe you our lives man."
"It was my responsibility." Six's tone was somber now. "You never leave a man behind."
It wasn't hard to understand what he meant, and the marines went quiet. Surprisingly, it was Vazquez who offered his condolences.
"They aren't dead Sir, just missing in action. You'll rendezvous with them sooner or later."
Six sighed and closed his eyes.
"One can only hope Vazquez."
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"Approaching pod numero dos." D.O.T spoke out into the quiet room, hoping to elicit a response from the two walking statues inhabiting it. John merely nodded, and big man was either too lost in thought, or didn't care. Great. It was back to being the laborer of the bunch, doing all the technical work while the trained monkeys fucked around without offering so much as conversation to fill the void. That was until they were needed to shoot a few bugs before running into something you couldn't fill with lead to make work. It was the shittiest arrangement she could think of.
As the craft descended, D.O.T. hatched a plan. If all she needed these monkeys for was transportation and protection, then she'd just find a way to take care of both. An artificial body could solve this issue, but they weren't exactly just laying around for her to steal. Any pre-made body that existed would be extremely hard to find, and most likely be inadequate for what she would need it for. That left D.O.T in a position where she would have to manufacture her own artificial shell if she were to get out of this role of backseat mother of the team. The manufacturing itself wouldn't be very hard, it was just finding a location to begin such a process that seemed impossible.
Fortunately, the Prowler was equipped with an array of sensors that D.O.T. had commandeered seconds upon being uploaded. It was with these sensors that she detected strange readings coming from pretty much the entire "planet." That didn't come as a shock, seeing as the mechanical side of the object could be viewed from space. What struck her as odd though, was the amount of information just outside of her reach. It was like a digital library rested just below the surface, beckoning to be cracked open. Too bad the damn thing was just outside of her effective range, making relying on the monkeys completely necessary if she was to expand her arsenal of knowledge even further. A sad, but necessary evil.
"Yo big man!" The Slayer reacted slowly, but turned to face her nonetheless. He clearly was still having an existential crisis, but there would be time for that later. "I need a favor from ya."