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Chapter 31: When All Is Lost

Miyu smiled when she saw Six enter the barracks, even if she did not feel like she should. The Lynx instead wished to cry, a sentiment that had arisen in the past few days whenever she gazed upon her lover. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes when she looked to the cracked and battered plates of his suit, the rusty brown patches of dried blood spackled on his armor like poorly affixed paint that disfigured the once beautiful, pristine cobalt. And her lips strained to maintain their composure as she studied the crystalline fracture carved across his silver visor.

The male that entered the bedroom appeared more dead than alive.

All the same she brushed her despair away and stood up to greet him, enveloping the spartan in her arms and holding him tightly, uncaring of the still wet fluids that stained her bodysuit, or the unpleasant smell that seemed permanently infused into his exoskeletal mail.

She only cared about not letting him go.

Her muzzle tried to form words, but she refrained, holding back the desire to speak. She did not try to tell him of her disapproval, not after their last argument. Instead she slipped a shoulder underneath his arm, and with a mighty grunt of exertion, helped the spartan to the bed. The military cot, the frame a steel rectangle bolted into the wall, took his weight fine, though the mattress suffered in silence as the stuffing was violently displaced by his impressive encumbrance.

The human made a motion upwards, and Miyu, picking up on it easily as the start of a now inured ritual, helped him unclasp the seals of his helmet. The sharp displacement of filtered oxygen filled the silent room with noise only briefly before she took the heavy construct of solid steel and laid it underneath the cot's overhang.

The feline once more held back her tears, this time with considerable more effort, as she moved a paw to gently brush across his gaunt countenance, tracing a thumb across the darkness under his eyes as she brought up the other with a dry wash cloth to wipe away the crimson dribble crusting on the corner of his mouth.

“Are… are you okay?" Her own voice sounded alien to her, quiet and dry, almost as hoarse as it would be after a night of heavy drinking. Supplies were low, and seeing as she did not fight as often as the other soldiers, she usually skipped out on her water rations, or slipped them to Six whenever he was out in the field.

“Cracked rib... I think." The spartan answered haltingly, his response obstructed by a shallow grunt of pain as he uneasily shifted himself to a somewhat more comfortable position. “That machine thing came back again..." _ He released a thin gasp. _“Left sooner than last time though."

Miyu nodded politely, more to humor him with a response as she focused on doing her best to wipe away the grime on his appearance. The hair on his face had started to grow again, not thickly, but no longer unnoticeable. She noted that unlike usual, he had yet to trim it. In her opinion he looked attractive with the beard, but it worried her that he neglected himself like this. She knew that in any other instance he would have removed it.

However, after his third pained exhale, she shifted her attention, lowering him down to recline upon the cot. Five days ago, and he would have protested. Now he let her move him without complaint.

“Please… rest." She insisted as she laid his head in her lap. It had been three days since Miyu last saw him, and each time he left he was gone for longer, and came back with more injuries. It arrived to a point where she no longer knew what to say to him. When he did return he was exhausted, and if prodded, irritable. The feline brushed her paw through his unkempt hair, more to ease herself than to comfort him.

The lynx was afraid, for Six, for herself, for everyone.

Twelve days ago he had finally confided in her what he knew about these creatures, what he called the aparoids, the strange word she heard during the briefing now given severe significance. Needless to say it had been a crash course in education.

She remembered yelling at him, calling him a varying sort of unkind names as he endured the brunt of it with stoic silence. After all, he had kept not only a secret from her, but one that was of near unbelievably vast portent. It was some time before she forgave him, and by then he had already been throwing himself into this fight with resolute, but reckless abandon. And for the first time she was able to witness him fight without restraint.

And it was terrifying.

The word defensive did not apply to the spartan when he reached the pinnacle of his bloodletting. He did not seek cover, pause to regroup, nor wait for support. He was in and of himself, a tool of superbly fashioned, merciless, offensive devastation. It was awesome to behold, watching a monolithic figure crash into a surge of opponents with little regards to fear or personal endangerment like a blood glutted berserker. He waded through the throngs of hostile creatures, bearing the front of every attack as he crashed upon them with unbridled violence, regardless of the numbers arrayed against him.

As of yet they had only encountered three types of the aparoids. The fodder, relatively small but undeniably numerous melee combatants that stood just above the waist of most cornerians, the aerial units, large, wasplike insectoids that fired blasts of energy from their stingers, and finally there was the walker. It appeared to possess the function of a command center, or perhaps a mobile base, as it carried both other forms of aparoids within it in seemingly limitless capacity.

Miyu was entirely certain the planet was still under CDF control as a direct result of Six's arrival… and that being this critical deterrent was killing him. The state of his armor was entirely representative of his current physical health, as she had learned when he had been forced to attend the infirmary before he set out on his last excursion. He had torn muscles, sprained ligaments, bruised bones, and it seemed he could add a cracked rib to the list.

The feline was astonished, and morbidly impressed, that he fought with such varying injuries, indeed that he was not hospitalized, but more than that she was appalled. Six sustained these injuries entirely because he cared not of protecting himself. While undeniable that his aggression was terrifying and reaped senseless casualties upon the aparoids, such a tactic was draining his life, both in a figurative and literal sense. She was certain that he would stop until either he or the enemy was utterly spent.

It made her wonder.

Was this the persona of his past? Was this the Noble Six that once waged war upon a technologically superior adversary? If it was, then she could see why his people had continued to create warriors like him, as unspeakable as the process was. It was, in no simple way, the most unbelievable, awe inspiring sight she had ever witnessed.

And Miyu hated every second of it. She was literally watching her heart-of-hearts kill himself as surely as if he had placed a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The only difference is that this particular conduit was indirect and slower nature. His near godlike proficiency at war saw him thrown into the thickest of combat zones to face the brunt of enemy attacks. He fought with unrestrained aggression because it prevented the enemy from forming any coherent counter, despite that such a tactic was slowly but surely snuffing his life.

The lynx shifted her gaze down to the fitfully resting spartan, a rictus of pain pulling lightly upon his face as he slept, another sign of his duress that he would succumb to slumber so easily. It was a sight she had grown morosely adapted to and a process that was not new to her. Whenever he came back from battle, he would sleep soon after, recuperating as much as he could of the strength he expended before throwing himself back into the fray.

And she could no nothing to prevent him. When she had first told him to stop, he ignored her, as he had the second and third as well. It was when she brought up the topic for the fourth time that he became infuriated. Four hours of yelling from both parties and a night spent away from each other was all that come of that. Since then, she learned that there were some things where he would adamantly deny here.

That… stung.

All she wished was to help him, but as she was starting to realize Six did not want her help, or at the very least was not willing to listen to her advice. He was, when his mind was set on a task, remarkably obstinate. And her anger did rise a little when she recalled why it was that she no longer fought at his side.

Not long after they arrived at this base he had pulled her to the side and informed her with little subtly that she would be taking a hiatus from her duties under his command. That was a conversation that had not been quite. She was certain the soldiers across the base could hear them as they argued. But, as he was prone to, the spartan won that conversation, leaving his victories undisputed.

It seemed that while he trusted her to fight the Remnant, he considered these foes above her capabilities or at the very least that her chances of being hurt were exponentially increased. Somehow she was both simultaneously flattered and insulted by this. He cared for her health, but at the same time insisted on treating her like a child.

Yet she could not find it in her to disobey him. Six could be dauntingly persuasive when he was adamant on his desire, and it did not help that he was technically her superior. Thus she had been confined, or more accurately, she was not allowed to accompany him when he departed on his own assignments. In this she found herself becoming a frequent acquaintance of Commander Ivanova, slipping into her squad's hierarchy with surprising ease. She had at first thought this might be a way to circumvent her dismissal from the spartan's side, but it appeared as if he was one step ahead of her. All of the tasks she had been handed kept her away from the places where the fighting was thickest. Despite the limitations imposed upon her, she still persisted in doing her best to contribute to the campaign efforts.

Nevertheless she would be happier if he would just worry more for his health then her own. The spartan certainly needed the attention more than she did.

With an annoyed, but no less affectionate grunt of irritation, she threaded her paws through her human's sweat soaked hair in hopes that it would ease his uneasy slumber.

“I love you… you big idiot." She muttered softly, tentatively, as if he could possibly hear her in his sleep, as her paw lingered lovingly on his cheek. The Lynx was still nervous about saying as much to him when he was awake. The feline was never all that besotted with the syrupy, mushy gushy romanticism that Krystal was so fond of reading in her books, but she vowed that when, not if, they finally got off this planet, she would pony up and confess.

Because in her eyes, from what she had seen since the crash, it was no longer safe to bank on the future.

*****

The chatter of loud voices rang noisily through the small room, unsurprising considering that more than two dozen individuals had been crowded inside for little more than half an hour as they waited for the arrival of the Lieutenant Colonel.

Fairly irritated by the droning buzz of conversation, Six lounged in the far corner, leaning against the wall and as far away from the loudest voices as he could physically place himself in an effort to attain any form of calm amidst the clamor. He ignored their prattling as he instead tried to ascertain what was reducing his MJOLNIR's combat efficiency. Ever since his last mission the servos in the suit's left arm joint would seize and terminate their function if extended out too far. This had hampered his effectiveness by eighteen percent, an unacceptable deficit.

Guiding his tool with careful precision, Six detached the plating wrapped around his armor's elbow joint to examine the servos that had been shielded by the titanium shell. The concern at hand was recognized shortly after. One of the cables looked to have been severed at some point in his last engagement, perhaps when one of those smaller grunt-like creatures had latched onto his arm in an attempt to hinder his assault. Ultimately it had failed, but not without leaving its mark it would seem.

Six grimaced in dissatisfaction.

That was a problem that he lacked the immediate facilities or materials to fix, and would persist until he returned to The Great Fox. The best he could hope for was to patch the worst of the damage and reroute function to the servos that still operated, which would at best offer him only an eight percent increase in mobility. But he would take what he could get, and attempt to be grateful for it.

In any case this exercise served a dual purpose, useful in that it distracted him from the incessant throbbing pain buried deep within his chest and other extremities. Definitely a cracked rib. He was quite impressed by this. Thus far the aparoids had been little more than a nuisance to him despite their persistence. The smaller grounded creatures could hardly do more than scuff his armor, and he was agile enough to evade the majority of incoming fire form their airborne companions. Add the factor of his shielding and the insurrection had been more of a threat, at least during the beginning.

It was the sheer quantity arrayed against him that brought issue.

Even the massed grunt suicide battalions sent during the height of the Covenant war were not as numerous. And in a way they were actually more of a threat. What these aparoids lacked in firepower they more than made up for it in sheer volume. For every hundred he was able to kill, another thousand would take their place, whittling down his defenses one battle at a time. Already in the weeks of his arrival he had nearly exceeded the last three months of his previous combat record.

He was becoming concerned that he would not be able to persevere at this current rate. The aparoids, while as individuals did not appear to possess any cognizance higher than that of beasts of war, from what he noticed there seemed to be an overarching intelligence guiding them.

This became apparent eight days ago.

That afternoon he had been ambushed during a scouting mission in the nearby city. A swarm of both types had struck from lateral and longitudinal vectors, utilizing the municipality's structures to achieve a near flawless ensnarement. Unlike any other engagement with such hostiles, they were coordinated on a level that almost mirrored a spartan team.

He fended them off with no little exertion of effort, and had since then been wondering more often as to what drove these monsters. Meanwhile, he had not encountered an attack of the like, but he was not so foolish as to believe that was a fluke.

As events were currently developing, the future appeared uncertain.

Six despised uncertainties.

The rumble of conversation slowed, shifting the spartan's attention to the front of the room to watch as the Lieutenant Colonel entered, the imposing figure of Commander Ivanova trailing close behind. Seats were retaken and all dialogue was quieted as the various squad leaders settled themselves for the coming brief. As for the spartan, he stepped away from the wall, sealing the exposed armored plating as he made to show respect to the one in charge of this operation.

The human supersoldier watched as the canine senior officer cleared his throat, the board behind him lighting up from the projector in the ceiling. From what Six had understood, most of the high tech equipment had been destroyed during this prolonged siege, meaning they were fortunate that the outdated facilities on Katina still housed such antiquated technology. Reliance on archaic kit was something familiar to Six considering the UNSC's war machine had expended itself over the course of the war.

This was in fact not his first mission brief using a projector.

“Alright you lot, listen up. As of today we are going on the offensive." Bill's voice carried loud within the packed boundaries of the small conference room, and Six observed in silent amusement as several animalian ears were perked up in curiosity at the ostensibly unpredicted proclamation.

This was, to the spartan, no surprise.

The current response to this war had been the dictionary characterization of incompetence, purely reactionary. Without any form of offensive operations this was a war already lost. Since before his arrival they had been simply playing into the enemy's hands, seeking only to defend their strongholds. It did not matter how many of these things you killed if you could not cut of their supplies or reinforcements, both of which cornerians either did not have or were running out of while the enemy appeared to not be suffering a similar scarcity.

“Commander Ivanova has come to me with a plan to turn the current tide." Bill continued, unaware of the spartan's musing. “I will now defer to her for the finer details." He conceded as he took a step backwards and prompted the large feline to take the stand.

The spartan could see that the female tiger was once more encased in her armor as she assumed Bill's place, what he had at first glance considered a primitive form of MJOLNIR. Now however he had learned it was more alike to what he had crafted for Miyu before their departure, heavy protective plates and ballistic weave, but bereft of any higher function. All the same, when combined with the fearsome feline's prominent combat ability, such seemingly unimportant facts mattered little.

From what he had observed serving alongside her, Commander Ivanova's strength was nearly equivalent to a normal spartan-III unenhanced by a suit of MJOLNIR, what was most likely a characteristic of her defined species rather than any possible augmentation. More than that, she was virtually just as tactically inclined and aggressive, if a little subdued in personal comparison to himself.

Curious as to what plans had been made, Six paid keen attention to the current speaker.

Ivanova raised a paw to the wall as the projector in the ceiling flicked its slide, bringing forth the image of a civilian habitation block. “As you are no doubt aware of, the aparoids knocked out all military communication stations planetwide. With this blackout we are unable to broadcast a signal past the boundaries of this world, preventing us from receiving reinforcements and ensuring we are incapable of warning the rest of the Lylat System. However…"

She pressed a button on the remote she held and the image shifted again, this time displaying a detailed double of the previous slide. The picture indicated a small plaza and a squat, square structure of solid concrete with a skeletal iron pylon bolted into the rooftop. “There are a few civilian transmitters that are salvageable. If we can repair one of these radio towers and convert it to use military frequencies, we should be able to get a signal out to the CDF, either for assistance or to at the very least warn them of our situation. Yes, Staff Sergeant Lindon."

The canine lowered his raised paw. “How far is this comms station from base? Because our APC's aren't much better than scrap right now. Any squad sent out would be stuck traveling on foot. And that's pretty much suicide."

“The answer to your question is twofold, Staff Sergeant. The station selected for this mission is less than thirty kilometers from our current position. As for the issue with transportation, my squad has retrieved a working police vehicle from the field. While the roadmaster is not as heavily armed or armored as its military counterpart, it should be sufficient enough to get the job done."

For a brief moment the impassive expression of the feline commander darkened. “Unfortunately with the limited compartment size, the soldiers assigned to this operation will be limited to ten rifles, a driver, and the radio tech."

“I don't like those odds." A voice muttered from the back of the room.

To that Ivanova nodded grimly. “This is purely a volunteer op. So take the next few minutes to think it over and remember there is no guarantee it'll be successful and casualties are anticipated."

A hushed atmosphere blanketed the briefing room after that announcement, the silence occasionally broken by the muttering of voices. This scene was something Noble Six had come across many times in his days in the UNSC. The ratio of normal operations to suicide missions was more often in favor of the latter. Humanity was in those days a wounded creature that subsisted from luck and faith, fueled by the untold losses of its individuals. As a spartan, he was distinctly attuned to sacrifice.

In his mind, he was simply waiting for the clearance to leave, regardless if any of these soldiers stepped up to the plate. It was as he mused on this that Six heard a young voice disrupt the stillness.

“Badger squad'll get the job done, Ma'am."

Curious, the spartan looked to the speaker who now stood up from his seat. His species was as indicated by his squad's call sign, his fur a dark black with a bold white streak running down his head to disappear into the collar of his armor. However he was relatively short for a cornerian, from his distance Six wagered he would stand only about a foot above the supersoldier's waist.

Commander Ivanova turned to face the soldier, her eyes boring into the shorter figure with a forceful intensity. “You are aware of what accepting this mission means, Staff Sergeant Bran?"

“Y-Yes, Ma'am." The now identified squad leader nodded timidly as he finally noticed that he was being scrutinized by the room as a whole.

“Very well then, inform you unit and be ready to depart at 0800. For this assignment, Lieutenant-B312 will be deployed as heavy fire support." She specified the spartan with a tilt of her muzzle in his direction.

Six watched with a thin lipped smile as the badger whirled around at the news and looked to the spartan with wide eyes, the muscles in his jaw tensing visibly. Yet the human could tell at a glance it was not born of hostility. Though animalian in form, he had seen more than enough of that expression in recent days to recognize it almost instantly.

The spartan sighed, repressing his exasperation as he stepped forwards to greet the soldier with an extended hand.

The cornerian grasped his offered limb and jerkily shook it, Six doing his best not to crush the man's paw. “I uh… yes, it's a privil-uh pleasure to meet you, Sir."

“Likewise Staff Sergeant, you should check on your team, get them prepped and get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long one."

“Of course, Sir… yes Sir. Right away Sir!" The badger babbled awkwardly, before realizing he was still vigorously shaking the giant's hand, and that most of the other soldiers in the room were now chuckling. The young infantryman tore his paw away and muttered an apology as he threw up a hallway proficient salute before hurriedly leaving the room.

Six watched him leave, an uneasy turmoil lingering in the center of his stomach.

“Bran's a good kid, not the smartest but he'll get the job done." The spartan heard the voice of Ivanova at his side.

“He's going to die."

“Don't count him out yet, Spartan. Just like all the others, he's fighting to save his home. I'm certain you've seen that kind of determination yourself in the warriors of your own people."

“It was never carried far." Noble Six answered with a weary sigh.

“Never far enough."

*****

The next day, Six found himself in Fort Abel's motor pool, trying to concentrate on sorting through his equipment as the technicians hurriedly finished their overhaul on the civilian model APC. With the time given to them there was not much the engineers could do other than weld on a few armor plates from a salvaged landmaster, and at the spartan's request, joint a hand bar to the vehicle's roof. Bran's squad was a nine man unit, and Six had no interest in stuffing himself in the small confines of the police carrier.

Even with his reservations, it was only logical for him to ride up top since the civil servant model of the CDF roadmaster did not carry a coaxial weapon. Without one their chances of crossing more than thirty kilometers unscathed was all but impossible. Providentially, the heavy assault cannon given to him by General Pepper would provide a suitable auxiliary while increasing mission success chance by a full forty percent.

Checking his chronometer, Six noted that it was 0730, meaning he was running low on time for preparations. Returning his intent back to his weapon, the spartan extracted the dimmed power cell and inserted a fresh core he had taken from the nearly barren armory. If they were unable to contact the CDF, then they wouldn't have to worry about fighting for much longer. By Six's estimates they had maybe three to four days of ammunition left before they were down to using rifles as clubs.

Sliding the arming rack and its new power core into the cannon and reengaging the safety, he returned the heavy weapon to the workbench and examined his rifle. As sparingly as he had used his personal ammo supplies, they were still virtually exhausted. Even condensing his munitions from half spent magazines had only resulted in three and a half loads, and that was not enough. Recon had identified more than two thousand aparoid scarabs between them and their objective. Then there was the unknown force multiplier of the aparoid flyers.

Six chuckled grimly.

Nine average CDF marines, an unarmed APC, and one spartan against two thousand plus hostile contacts. Those were odds more familiar in the domain of the Human Covenant War, something he had hoped to never revisit, no matter the form taken.

What was the phrase?

Familiarity breeds contempt?

The spartan's disposition darkened further, his rifle lowering slowly from his increasingly tentative grasp. Distracted from his labors, Six opened the clasp on his TACPAD and pulled up its imaging software. He scrolled through what he had compiled since he arrived in Lylat, hundreds of images detailing military equipment, personnel, and strategic locations. And through it all he paused when coming across the only picture that stood out from the rest, as unalike as it was from the others, the only one he lingered on so often with guilty preference.

It had no tactical importance or military application, its purpose in the instant it was taken was purely selfish, a moment of weakness for the spartan.

Though the scene was set in The Great Fox's common room it was not the focus, the peripheries of the depiction blurred in favor of concentrating on its center. And despite the fact the room was filled with the entire team, the photograph was fixed on an individual amidst the crowd, one that stood out in the translucent, clear clarity afforded to military imaging technology.

Six lingered upon Krystal's image, her smiling expression, her bright emerald eyes, everything that he had been denied since they had been separated. He had never thought he could want for something as much as he longed to be with her again. It was unalike any perception he had suffered before, and all the more unbearable for it. He could feel it most in the heart beating within his chest at every moment, a lingering sense as if he had misplaced something vital to his continued existence.

Is this what it was like to love?

Was this one of its side effects?

If so, he wasn't sure he could bear it.

“We'll make it back you know."

Turning away from the still image, Six looked to the soft smiling feline sitting beside him. This was the first time anyone had ever been able to get so close without his notice in the entirety of his spartan career, which did not speak well of love's effects on his abilities. Yet he dismissed the thought as unimportant as he lightly leaned into Miyu's shoulder. While Krystal may not be there with him, he was not alone.

“I know." He answered quietly, grateful in that moment that he agreed to let Miyu come with him all those weeks ago. He had not been kind to her in these days, an unfair treatment formed from an amalgam of stress and physical strain imposed upon him. And yet, he was not sure he would have survived without her. Every time he was drawn back to his past, she was there to forcefully pull him out of it. If not for her diligence he was certain he would have been lost to the excess of violence. There was something about war, it… called to him. He craved the cacophony of battle, the exhilaration of combat, to know that you were in all ways superior to your adversaries. He had been bred for the role of an apex predator, his proficiency and natural aptitude cultivated by years of training and merciless warfare. It was this mentality that pushed him to act recklessly.

The military facility on Onyx had tried to curb his careless behavior and self-endangerment. But when his ONI handler picked him up they had instead nurtured this conduct, perhaps seeing no long term value in a spartan-III. And it was in this way that he had come to know the Master Chief well in the years he spent fighting the war, his handler often pairing him up with the older spartan-II. They made an unusual, albeit effective unit. 117 had an analytical, calculated methodology, born of his more rigorous and intensive education. He entered a battlefield already knowing how the fight would end. Six respected him for that, and hoped that the other spartan was still fighting strong wherever he was.

However, like most IIIs, Six had not received the same intensive rearing. There was less care, less… interest, spent on the younger generation. They had never been meant to achieve the same effect as their older brethren, at least not without great sacrifice. The spartan III program had been a stopgap, a cheap, effective way to hit the Covenant where it hurt. They were little less than cannon fodder, and it showed in the way they had been taught.

When Six took to the field, it was to reap havoc.

ONI had tutored him in the ways of shock and awe, perfecting the art of offensive operations. He had been an instrument designed to create mayhem and sow fear into the hearts of the enemy, a guided missile opposed to the finer, scalpel-like precision of the Master Chief. While he had engaged hostile forced head on, the Chief slipped in during the confusion and completed the true aim of their assignment.

But that was another time, one that Noble Six did not wish back. No. He was content enough with his place in Lylat, and those he had come to call family. He looked to Miyu in this instance, the feline doing more for his sanity than any shrink ever had in his days with the office.

Six extended his gauntlet, palm upward, and the lynx wrapped her paw around his offered appendage, interweaving her furred digits into his own_. “Thank you, Miyu, for standing with me."_

“You haven't exactly made it easy." She retorted with gentle rebuke, a faint gleam of amusement and irritation flickering in her amber eyes.

“No… I have not, have I?" He rumbled softly to himself, his muse twisting inwards to reflect on his recent misconduct, and he was forced to examine himself without clinging to his misplaced pride. What she spoke was undeniable, nor was it new information. He was no stranger to conflict with her, but he was unfamiliar with being wrong, as he had been in nearly every argument.

What was more, he had insulted her capabilities and her person many times since they came to Katina. It was not fair to her that he would accept her first offer to help, but dismiss it at every available opportunity afterwards. He had no excuse, even if it was formed of a desire to keep her safe. He had known for a long time she was not one to be coddled.

The spartan sighed in recognition of his failures.

“I continue to be undeserving of your affection. But perhaps…" He mused with a slightly amused tone of voice, “I can attempt to rectify this."

Swiftly removing his helmet, the spartan eyed the lynx with a rather conspiratorial grin. “Would you be interested in making a wager?"

Miyu's ears flicked as she smiled wryly. “Perhaps… what are the stakes?"

“Nothing you would not enjoy. Should my kill ratio be higher than yours, in the ensuing assumption that you would care to join me for this mission, than I shall demand from you…" He paused, looking to her with a low chuckle, “a kiss."

“And should I win?" Miyu asked, feeling a warm excitement in her chest at the possibilities.

“Then I shall perform one task of any condition for you, without complaint."

The lynx forced herself to ignore the jolt of exhilaration that coursed through her body at his words. One task of any condition? She mused with an anticipatory emotion that was not entirely chaste.

“Do we have an accord?"

“Deal!" The feline declared with an animated bob of her head, sealing their pact with a forceful handshake. This was better than she had hoped for. Her first intent at coming down had been to strong arm her way into the mission, but fates willing it appeared Six had already been of similar mind. And what's more, she had a bet where she won regardless of its outcome. This was the definition of a win-win situation.

Reaching back behind where she sat, the feline pulled something heavy out from its concealed position. “It's a good thing I brought my gear then isn't it?" She wondered aloud with a sly grin.

Six laughed softly. “A coincidence I am certain. Ready up and meet me by the roadmaster. I will inform Staff Sergeant Bran of your involvement."

Standing up and leaving her with a pat on the shoulder, the spartan crossed the bustling activity of the motor pool, though he stopped some distance away from his destination to silently observe as the young badger geared up with his squad.

Nothing he saw before him was new, he had worked with countless marine squads in his time, and more often than naught those men and women did not live longer than the mission required. Such was a sad fact of life for soldiers in the UNSC, there was no statistical enquiry of the average lifespan of a marine. War against the Covenant was so unpredictable that military analysts could not accurately gauge a percentage. Regardless, any information that might have been disclosed would in all probability only have a negative impact on morale.

He knew war was waged differently here in Lylat, and from what he had gathered the survival of CDF soldiers as well as their quality of life was substantially better. But in the days he had been on Katina, fighting the aparoids, he found both his assignments and battlegrounds to eerily remind him of the conflict he left in his past.

There was a desperateness here that could only be emulated by humanity's last stand.

Their foe was numerous and had no concept or design for mercy, they destroyed, they razed, they murdered, all without any sense of morality. One had but to look to the gaunt horizons of the broken cities that now dotted Katina's landscape to notice it. Yet there was something about the aparoids that unsettled Noble Six, some inherent nature of theirs that worried him in the quite between battles. At least one could potentially understand the goals of the Covenant, after all they never stopped preaching about the sanctity of their holy duties. Yet with the aparoids there was only silence, like an army of machines, a tide of unfeeling metal and chitin that consumed all life it touched. There was no discernable emotion or individuality behind their movements, functioning more like a plague than an invading army.

Outside the motor pool's garage, past the trenches and razor wire, beyond the kilometers of desolation that stretched on into the distance, to where the bones of a dying world jutted across the broken skyline…

They were waiting.

And Six was not certain he could stop them.

His will to fight was as strong as the day he donned his MJOLNIR, but he could feel it in his ceramic plated bones, an entrenched exhaustion he had never felt before in his life, not even after the most rigorous PT drills of his youth or long hours spent on the battlefield. He was but one spartan, a III no less, not a II. He was not as… capable, as his elders, and was concerned that he alone might not be enough, not against the manner of foe they now faced.

The forces of Venom had lulled him into a sense of security he could not have afforded. A lifetime spent waged against the Covenant, an enemy so mighty and vast that any victory against them was considered monumental, had made such a foe seem pitiful in comparison.

And with their fall a new, powerful enemy has made itself known, one he knew only that they desired the destruction of all that he know cherished. In consideration to this new threat he understood less than nothing. Their objectives, their tactics, their motives or their history, all things necessary to create a real counteroffensive, or a response of any kind, all of this he needed to fight effectively, yet found himself lacking.

The spartan ignored the weary sigh that echoed within his helm as he focused outwards. Now was not the time for doubt, not when he had someone to protect. If he allowed himself to become distracted, more than his life would be endangered. Miyu would be coming with him this time, and he would be damned to the pits of hell before he let her die.

This mission would succeed if for no other reason than he would not, could not, accept the price of failure.

“You know what I think? With Bran in charge, we're all as good as dead!"

The high toned, chipper voice was jarring enough to shake Six out of his calculative thoughts and the spartan watched the small brown furred individual on the staff sergeant's team, male, lively, and jittery, a squirrel both by race and personality it appeared. However, whereas the rodent's exclamation might have been taken as an insult, judging from the looks he was getting and the smile on his face, it was a scene often played out.

“Nah, pretty sure your mouth will do us in first." This next voice, female, feline, smaller than Miyu, mundane color pattern, domestic breed, shorthair? Her tone was derisive, only supporting Six's recent theory that all felines were born sardonic.

“Relax Ora, you know he just wants attention. You're giving him exactly what he wants." Spoke the largest member of the group. Tall, muscular, an ursine perhaps? From experience Six considered bears to be somewhat of an unusual species amidst cornerians, unfortunate considering the inherent advantages that could be attained for the CDF.

“Not my fault he knows how to push my buttons, Levi." The feline retorted with a well-intentioned grimace as the other members of their squad chuckled softly.

At that point Six tuned out the rest of the conversation as it served him no purpose. The spartan instead located Bran, the badger partially concealed by the bear, Levi, as he watched his team chatter with a smile. He could see that there was history amongst this squad, perhaps born of a long interim spent together.

It was ill-fated that they had all been sent to die.

Six brushed away that cruel notion with a negligible shake of his head. It was not his place to write off allies so easily. He would do his best to see that they all made it back from the mission alive, if not in one piece.

The superhuman shelved his wandering thoughts and approached the squad, their lighthearted banter dying as he drew near. He knew why, though he did not care to ponder on that too heavily. Such recognition was a fact of life for spartans, regardless of their iteration or inferiority to one another

“Is your team ready to depart, staff Sergeant?"

“Y-Yes, Sir!" The badger answered with a somewhat confident nod. “We're briefed, geared, and ready to roll out." While Bran may not have been his first option for this assignment, the badger and his squad would have to suffice.

“Good. I am to inform you that the squad parameters have been updated. Specialist Lynx will be joining us on our mission as your tenth. Treat her as you would treat me. I will not tolerate subversive conduct."

“Of course, Lieutenant. We'd be glad to have her help." The squad leader was quick to declare with a nervous smile. While he might not have had any problems with the cat coming with them, it was hard to not be tense when the spartan spoke. He was, instinctively, a threatening individual.

Six nodded in satisfaction and without a parting word spun on his heels to return to Miyu. The time was 0750, and he intended to spend the rest of his free time with the women he loved. And as he walked away, he ignored the muted muttering of Bran's squad.

“Damn…" The squirrel mumbled softly, speaking in a low tone. “Did anyone else just piss themselves right there? That guy's scarier than our old bastard of a drill sergeant, and he was a lion."

“I would keep your voice down if I were you, Simon." The unnamed lizard amidst them cautioned with a reptilian smile. “From what I've been told the Lieutenant has dangerously good hearing."

“And you would be correct, Private."

The entire squad flinched at the sound of the departing soldier's voice.

“See… I told you."

*****

+“You alright up there? It's getting a little bumpy in here so I can only imagine what it's like riding bitch."+

The spartan, who had up until this moment been content with such a rare moment of silence, could not help but roll his eyes as he instinctively rechambered the power cell for his assault cannon for what must have been the hundredth time since they drove out of the motor pool.

“I am fine, Miyu. I was enjoying the silence…" He responded, leaving his obvious retort implicit to examine the forest of broken towers and upheaved asphalt, his grip tightening on the weapon as he scanned the ruined city for potential targets. There was not much left that resembled the thriving metropolis that had once cluttered the land. Shattered storefronts and collapsed buildings cut an ugly tapestry of ravaged civilization, and a myriad of wrecked machines spewed across the ruined landscape like the vomitus discharge of an ailing industrial titan.

Not much was left to the majesty and spender of this lylatian colony.

The spartan could not imagine what these soldiers were going through as they navigated the forlorn debris they once called home. Personally, he was hardened to such an image viewed quite often in the war with the Covenant. At least they had not been glassed, there was hope for them to rebuild. Humanity was not afforded such a luxury.

Six listened to the feline's answering, throaty chuckle over the radio with a thin smile he did not feel the least bit uncomfortable for having. While his reservations at having the lynx accompany him were still multitudinous, he did find her presence -notwithstanding that it was tonal in this current moment- to be calming if he was correct in his description. Perhaps amusing was the better adjective, given her persistence in making light banter.

Knowing that she was with him somehow made the tragedy of this world seem brighter.

+“You know…"+

Hearing her pause, her tone growing less whimsical, the spartan momentarily shoved away his attention to the outside world to focus on the sound of her voice.

+“All this quiet's given me time to think."+ She mumbled thoughtfully. +“My… my dad's here." Miyu declared softly, her voice barely above a whisper, her voice hoarse with unexpressed emotion.

Six processed her announcement with disquiet, his examination of the dead city taking a darker aspect as he pondered on what he could say to ease her indisputably troubled mind.

+“I've been thinking about him for a while now. He lives over in Ildaro a few hundred kilometers southeast, or at least I think he still does. Can't really tell anymore."+ She admitted with a sigh. +“There's no telling where he could be now, or even if he's…"

Six chose to remain mute within the loaded silence that pervaded after her trailing thought, at least until he decided on what to say.

“I am certain your father is alive. After we push the aparoids off this planet I shall help you find him. And we will, I promise you that." He would do anything for her, for anyone on Starfox. Her father obviously meant a great deal to the lynx, which only could mean that the man was important to him as well. He would locate her parent, if only to make her happy. That alone was reward enough.

Six felt his mood ripple strangely as Miyu giggled, the spartan's sharp hearing discerning the indistinct sniffles surreptitiously interleaved in-between each peel of the feline's laughter. She was happy, and yet… sad.

+“Thanks for saying that, Six. If anyone in the universe could own up to that promise, it's you."+

“I do not break promises." He stated with a bland pragmatism. “I would like to believe that's one of my finer qualities."

+“Oh… I can think of a few more."+

Six scoffed good-humoredly, almost able to feel the feline salaciously waggle her eyebrows.

“You… my dear, are incorrigible." Perhaps one day Six would understand why he had fallen for such a flirt.

However Six had a theory that it would not be this day as he once more brought his focus outwards. As he did, the spartan refrained from paying too close attention to the occasional bleached white entities draped in tattered fabrics that were sprawled haphazardly across the deserted ruins.

There was nothing he could do to help them now.

This war had stretched on long enough that carrion feeders had already stripped any remains that lingered upon the battlefield, a minor, and to some degree morbid, blessing in his humble opinion. Despite the vast quantities of dead civilians he had seen in his service, it was never any easier.

Shifting his grip on the welded hand bar, the spartan peeled his gaze away from the street to scrutinize the buildings lining the paved roadway as the APC crawled through the debris, its armored treads eating up the asphalt with the steady rumble of its engines and the interment crackle of crushed glass. His intuition kept bringing his concentration to the countless broken windows that could hide any number of concealed threats.

A persistent itch beset the span of skin across the back of his neck, a lingering impression that he had come to know well over the years as the herald of ill omens. Twenty-three kilometers they had traveled so far, all without neither sight nor trace of the aparoids. Yet all the same he knew they were out here with them. There was no chance that the scout report was off, he had taken it himself. While any soldier would be pleased at the lack of confrontation, as a spartan, Six was not reassured.

The supersoldier traded his attention between his eyes and the tracking software in his armor, watching and waiting for an attack he knew was coming. There was no doubt in his mind that the aparoids would not let them reach their target without some form of resistance.

+“Still good up there big guy?"+ The familiar voice of Miyu came across his ears as the feline once more inquired on his status.

“Affirmative, no contacts within visual or scann-"

He interrupted himself as he felt a shift in air pressure around him, the spartan instinctively tucking his head tight to his chest.

Noble Six's vision blurred as a titanic force impacted his breastplate, center mass just below his ribs where his MJOLNIR was weakest, entirely bypassing or overriding his shields. Titanium armor plating crumpled inwards with the same ease as a boot crushed a tin can, and the spartan was catapulted backwards with an unsolicited wheeze of pain. He could feel his organs shift in his torso as he was sent flying, displaced by the weight of whatever immense object was sent crashing into him.

Had he not been gripping the cross-bar he would have been yanked off the APC by the sheer potency alone, instead his wrist had caught on the metal as the unexpected force had caused an instinctive reaction to tighten his grip. Rather than be knocked off the vehicle, Six growled at the sting of his arm wrenching out of its socket.

Seeking any advantage in a situation he was still trying to process, the spartan catapulted himself back onto the top of the personnel carrier using transferred momentum, ignoring the cry of displeasure his torn muscles subjected him to after their abuse as he flopped inelegantly atop the vehicle, his arm still clamped tightly around the welded bar. What he did not ignore, was the audible chittering across from him.

Whipping his attention to where he had just been riding, his pained grimace turned into a frowning rictus as he found himself unable to recognize his adversary. Yet he was able to summon up three adjectives to describe his foe.

Different, powerful… dangerous.

Unlike the centipedes and small nature of the scarab class, this new creature was quadrupedal, and nearly double his height. An angular, insectoid pate reposed at the top of its imposing stature, a pair of compound eyes glared down at him as they sat above a churning maw of sharpened mandibles. Along with four legs it possessed two lean, raptorial appendages that were in the moment tucked close to its thorax, each limb honed, barbed, and weeping an oozing black secretion from its ventilated blades.

Noble Six drew his blaster pistol and rolled onto his back, firing a trio of bolts at the creature in a bid to buy him time to recuperate and form a plan. But he was alarmed when the spine of its carapace split open like a beetle and it vaulted backwards with the buzz of insectoid wings, entirely avoiding his attack.

He watched as it landed on the brick work of a nearby building, its clawed legs plunging into the masonry with perturbed ease. And, right before his eyes, its form rippled until it vanished from sight.

The spartan uttered a dark curse as he sat himself up and looked to the collapsed thoracic plating wrapped underneath his ribs, before retuning his now more watchful gaze to the buildings encircling the APC. A tickle in his chest transformed into a wet cough that splattered his visor with thick red mucus.

In all he only really had one word to describe the last thirty seconds.

_“Shit." _