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| - Harriet II, September 16th, 2300 Hours It was the same as always, just the two of them against the world, just like it should be. Marcus-226 sat idly in the hangar bay of the UNSC I Am Your Father pulling back the slide of the MA5K carbine he held in his right hand, meticulously checking over his weapon. Before him lay a suppressor, an under barrel grenade launcher, a scope meant for a BR55, and a laser pointer, all components for the small weapon the he held like a toy, but it was his toy. Below him lay Harriet II, a UNSC controlled world filled with law abiding citizens and soldiers who followed orders to the letter. It was a good place to be, unless you were Colonel Ellen Granger or anyone under her command. Granger was a good officer, clean cut, reasonable, and a mother once, the last part had led to her crossing CINCONI. During a recent operation on some irrelevant world falling to the Covenant she’d been tasked to defend an ONI facility, in doing so she’d stumbled across information that his superiors didn’t want anyone knowing, she’d found out about her son, her real son. No one besides ONI and the dead knew that, and soon Granger would join the latter. “Took you long enough.” Marcus remarked aloud, not even looking up from his weapon as Jason-243, his partner approached. The two had been together for a long time, years upon years of hunting, killing, and destroying, living the life. His partner didn’t respond, ever silent as Marcus began tediously attaching the extra components to his weapon. Jason simply unslung his weapon, a heavily modified SRS-99-AM with too many extra additions to keep up with and motioned towards the DC-77 dropship with a nod of his head. “In a second.” Marcus responded, attaching the carbine to the magnetic back plate of his armor. Jason let out an exasperated sigh as waited for Marcus to gather up his collection of IEDs as well as more conventional explosives, and the XM10 that he treasured so dearly. With his left hand Marcus scooped up the helmet to his MJOLNIR Mark V SAPPER armor and slid it on. Within seconds his bright blue heads up display appeared before his equally blue eyes, the armor instantly brought up displays which showed his weapons, amount of ammunition, vitals, and a motion tracker with a 50 meter area of effect. Also, an error message appeared as it failed to recognize the improvised explosives as usual. He got rid of it quickly before patting Jason on the shoulder and moving towards the Pelican. Following without a word, Jason entered behind his Marcus and took a seat near the ramp, his weapon laying in his lap, with Marcus plopping down beside him. “ANTEAUS, ZARAOFF, system check.” Ordered the stoic voice of Karl Lysander, the two’s handler and mission director. Without question, both winked their status lights green as they sat in the hull of the dropship, their faces cold and expressionless beneath their visors, not that the MJOLNIR (M) variant that Jason donned had much of a visor to speak of. Minutes felt like minutes, 226 and 243 had long since outgrown their nervousness or the anticipation that came pre-deployment, they were the best at what they did, and they weren’t afraid. As time passed they entered the atmosphere and descended towards their target. “COMs go down in five, four, three, two, on-“ the line with Lysander cut, as did every single line of communication on the island beneath them. Everyone was in the dark, just the way it should be. Minutes later they touched down, outside they heard the confused clamor of troopers outside. Marcus nodded to 243, stood up, and activated his drop shield. The blue dome of hexagonal figures encased the SPARTANs as all of a sudden, the DC-77 exploded around them. As flame and fragmentation spewed everywhere the two operators remained safe on the hunk of metal that had been their seats. As the dome dissipated, the black armored figures stared out amidst the smoke and fire with icy gazes. They were not affected by the screams of agony that filled the air, or the frantic scurrying of response teams to quell the flames. Marcus simply leveled his grenade launcher and squeezed the trigger thrice in quick succession. Explosives landed dead in the center of response teams, hurling limbs as well as people about. As Marcus waded through the fire he continued to fire indiscriminately, response teams, aircraft crews, it didn’t matter, if it breathed he shot an explosive at it. Behind him, Jason seemingly faded into nothing but a slight shimmer as his active camouflage took effect. While his partnered moved to position himself, Marcus exited the inferno, opened the drum of the XM10, slid in a smoke round, and fired. As the gray blanket covered him, he whipped his M6C SOCOM from his left thigh and activated his VISR systems. Only now did an armed group of troopers come into view, rushing through the smoke, looking about desperately for the wounded. They still didn’t know there boots on the ground. As one drew close to him, Marcus raised the pistol up and squeezed. He missed. Miraculously the trooper had kneeled down to assist a wounded comrade just in time. He squeezed twice, this time he caught the man in the chest and knocked him to the ground. Without pause, 226 put a round through the injured trooper’s skull. “Is that a Spa-?!” A trooper’s cry of disbelief caught Marcus’ attention, who wheeled around to face the source of the noise, only the see the trooper collapse to the ground with a hole in his head. “Mica?! Mic-?!” another dropped, then another, then another, only now did they fight back. Blinded by smoke the troopers fired off their MA37s wildly, praying they’d hit whatever hellish thing was cutting them down. Striding past them, Marcus fully extended his arm to the left and fired five times, emptying his magazine into a duo of troopers before slapping the weapon back onto his thigh and swapping out his XM10 for the MA5K and breaking into a dead sprint. Bursting through the layer of smoke, the weapon snapped out and let out a burst of suppressed coughs, dropping a duo of troopers before they could retaliate. Another managed to level his assault rifle and let off a few shots which harmlessly struck his shield. The yellow energy flared up, but Marcus didn’t shift his carbine to nail the man, instead letting out a long burst into another group as Jason sent a round soaring into the shooter’s skull. “Big guy, on your left, I’ll take right.” The words cut through the eerie silence inside of his helmet as partner warned Marcus of the figure barreling towards him, and Jason was right, the guy was big. And fast. And had suddenly disappeared into nothing as some sort of camoflauge system kicked into play. “What the fuc-?“ He barely had a moment to speak as a barrage of suppressed fire hit him. Even with the shields, an M7 coming from so close was something he could feel. Was this motherfucker in SPI? Marcus activated the VISR systems in his helmet instantly and trained his weapon on the figure and returned fire and began evading. Shockingly enough his opponent was able to evade just as well as he. All of a sudden his mag ran dry with an audible click, but so did his enemies, he could hear it. The two were but a few feet apart, and both knew what was about to happen. Marcus hit first. Lunging forward he swung for the figure’s oddly rounded face, the assailant ducked under and put a series of jabs into his side then sprinting past him. “Fuck, hit that guy!” 226 snarled, slamming a new magazine home and yanking the slide of his carbine and whipping about. Sadly, unlike his unknown attacker who’d come from the woods now to his back, he was now facing the entrance of the firebase’s hangar, and it was crawling with troopers. Was that a fucking SIII? Despite 243’s best efforts, the tan armored soldiers had managed to set up, utilizing the base’s UH-144s for cover. Instantly he slammed his hand to the ground and activated the drop shield. Had he been a second slower the M247s now slamming his dome would’ve popped his shields and torn him apart. And the figure was nowhere to be seen. As shields began to come back up, the protective dome began to fail. Where the hell had that SIII-type guy gone? Where the hell was Jason? Four heads exploded in quick succession, answering his question. With the HMGs dropped and the other troopers focused on spraying towards the source of the sniper fire. Slapping his carbine to his back alongside the launcher, he yanked a C6 charge from a pouch and a detonator from another. Sprinting forward and out of the dome as it vaporized, he hurled the charge into the hangar, the explosive skidded along for a moment, ending up just under the nose of one of the three twin rotor transports, and then Marcus blew it. The explosion thundered loudly, the hangar and all craft within detonated. Fire spat out and hurled the corpses and limbs of troopers into the air. “Jason where’d it go?!” Marcus demanded as he reloaded his M6. “Inside.” Came the sniper’s stoic response, there had been no need to tell Marcus, he already knew 243 was moving to him. Moving together towards the entrance under the pale moonlight, the SPARTAN-II hit team armed themselves for close quarters. Scooping up an MA37 to wield in tandem with his MA5K, Marcus pressed himself against the left side of the door as Jason slapped a device to the door, hefting an M6J in his hand. There was no need for words, they’d run through this drill since they were children, true that back then they’d had Lancaster to flood the hall with lead, but still, all it took was a simple nod from Jason to signal Marcus. Breach. The door slid open, the device attached having cut through any locks in their way. Stepping into the hall, weapons raised, to Marcus the world seemed to move in slow motion. Squeezing down on the triggers, he pumped lead into the squad of troopers kneeling at the end of the hall around an M247. Before they could strike he’d put down four of the eight, including the MG gunner, but as the soldier fell back, reflexively he pulled the trigger in tandem with the rest of his squad. Rounds hammered away at 226, forcing his shields to dissipate with a pop. As he dove back behind cover his HUD began to blare an alarm as the blue bar above his vitals which indicated his shield strength ran empty. As he dove he caught a round in his outer thigh. As he crashed into the ground he gritted his teeth in pain, which he ignored and rose back up without a word. Jason leaned into the hall, shouldering his acquired carbine and squeezing the trigger twice. Two troopers dropped, holes in their skull. Quickly Jason jerked back as rounds whizzed past. Outstretching a hand he beckoned to Marcus, who tossed his friend the MA37. Snatching it out of the air and exchanging it for the M6J, he fired blindly into the hall to empty the magazine. Having effectively suppressed the troops for but a moment, Marcus stepped back into the hall, and fired off the underbarrel launcher, blasting the position to bits. “Got ‘em.” Marcus remarked, his shields regenerating as a low hum sounded in his helmet.
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* “Didn’t you say they wouldn’t send SPARTANs? What if it’s him? Is he down there?” Colonel Ellen Granger growled, looking to her right at the six foot six titan now standing beside her, clad in SPI armor. The soldier looked down at her, staring at her from behind a polarized visor and shrugged. There was no way for Bowen-B103 to know the answer to her question, the ex-Spartan had taken a risk back on the colony Roosevelt, joining the fight alongside the UNSC whom he’d been hiding from for years. But he’d weighed the risks, and the hacker had infiltrated the system of the facility Granger’s battalion had been assigned to defend, and within he’d found something that would bring her to his side. Somewhere within the second class of SPARTAN-IIs was the colonel’s son, one she’d thought dead. Standing up to ONI had been a part of the plan, but he’d wanted to wait until the right time. But the Covenant were closing in, humanity was on the verge of extinction now that Reach had fallen, now was likely the only chance they’d get. He’d expected them to retaliate, but not with Spartans, God forbid SIIs. He could’ve taken an ONI kill team, while lethal the unaugmented operators could still have been bested, but these two were not a standard kill team. Looking back to the camera monitors he watched as the SIIs slaughtered their way through the base, working their way to the command center. “Get ready. The traps won’t stop them.” He ordered, calmly removing the empty clip of his M7 and slapping on a new one. The Colonel looked up at Bowen with a raised eyebrow, evidently bothered by the twenty-something former E-5 trying to order her around. Uncaring, Bowen continued his preparations, and the former ORION augmentee caved and began her own preparations. Flicking the safeties off on her weapons, Ellen would place an M6G on her thigh and hold an M392 in one arm, and donning the silver visored Air Assault with the other. The woman was decked out in full airborne gear, but the tan armored woman wasn’t quite done, producing an injector from a pouch on her waist she then injected herself with a Waverly-Class augmenter. A rumbledrug. Bowen on the other hand, loaded his M6C and sheathed his knives. In addition he lifted a rugged old M45 shotgun, which seemed to barely being held together by a series of jury rigged parts, much like the battered SPI he wore. His armor was covered in pockmarks, dents, burns, scratches, and the like, it was a miracle he’d kept the photoreactive panels operational. Suddenly explosives rocked the halls nearby, Bowen and Granger snapped up their weapons, waiting for but a moment until the door began to slide open.
*
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* “Hit ‘em!” Marcus burst through the door with his comrade, spraying wildly with his carbine as Jason brought up his rear with fire from his MA37. Instantly the target and her accomplice, who was almost certainly an SIII (if the SPI in itself hadn’t enough, the faint “B103” on his chest solidified the theory) ducked into cover and returned fire. Taking up cover in the hall and peeking around the door to fire, the SIIs pinned their opponents behind the command table, hurling lead through the holographic projections hovering above the table. While the rouge III remained in cover, firing blindly over the table with his M6, the target, Granger, moved. And she moved fast. Marcus trained his sites on the woman and let out a burst at her, narrowly missing as she dived behind a console, and hurled something overhead. Flashbang Marcus and Jason’s visors fought to polarize quick enough to shield their eyes, but the play had served its purpose, even if for a second, Jason and Marcus were distracted. Surging across the small room, Granger barreled into Marcus, bringing the assassin to the ground. Before Jason could dispatch her, Bowen had loosed a hail of buckshot at him. Turning his attention to the SIII, Jason moved in. Meanwhile Marcus raised his arms to block a series of surprisingly fast punches then snatching the woman’s arm as she tried to draw an M6 and fire. With a quick twist and yank he broke her arm, then smashed her helmet with a punch which threw her off him and onto her back. Jumping to his feet and then at her, he made a move to put his hand through her skull via her now shattered visor. But a swift kick to his chin changed things. She caught him again, and again, and again. Suddenly his visor cracked and depolarized, allowing to woman to see a distorted version of his face. The kicks stopped, she froze as he tossed aside the helmet and glared down on her with his cold eyes. “Marcus?” She questioned. 226 froze for a moment, somehow she knew his name. “Marcus, it’s me, it’s momm-,“ She was cut short when he leveled his M6 and fired once, striking her in the head. He’d cut her down without a second thought. “YOU SICK FUCK!” Exclaimed a battered Bowen-B103, who as Marcus now saw, had a knife to Jason’s unshielded neck. “SHE WAS YOUR FAMILY! AND YOU KILLED HER!” The SIII roared. Marcus’ face remained cold and stoic as he simply nodded to Jason. Instantly 243 elbowed the smaller Spartan in the gut, knocking the breath out of him as well as putting a dent into his armor, then Jason grabbed the traitor’s knife hand, and pulled him over his shoulder, slamming him onto the command table. Grunting in pain, Bowen began to raise himself up, only to be slammed back down by Marcus, who then pulled one of the rouge’s knives from its sheath then rammed it into its owner’s throat. As B103 clawed at his own neck, pointlessly attempting to save himself, Marcus looked down on him with indifference. “He,” Marcus began, pointing to Jason who looked down on the III as well. “He is my family.” With his statement finished, he wrenched out the knife, then rammed it through the SPI’s visor and into Bowen’s skull. The SIII went limp. The rest of the op went exactly as planned, Jason and Marcus rigged the base with IEDs and the like and brought the place down and made it look like an insurgent attack, plain and simple. They would be picked up and returned to the ONI owned Marathon-Class cruiser, and they would not discuss what had occurred on that night, or who Granger may have been to Marcus or who the traitor SIII was, until now.
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