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Somewhere off in the distance, Maculee heard laughing, blended with the creaking of iron. A final resounding slam echoed, and silence fell in its wake. He stirred, coming back to his senses as he pushed himself up to his feet on cold hard concrete and surged forwards towards iron bars in front of him.

Maybe he still had a chance. Maybe there was still some vain hope that he could turn this all around. Reaching for the old iron bars, he grasped firmly, shaking them.

"Hey! I'm not supposed to be here! You've got the wrong person! This is a mistake!"

Metal reverberated through long corridors along with his voice, answered by no one. Another shake of metal, a crack to break the silence and an usher for what was now arriving. Panic. Maculee walked around in quick circles, stuck in his own affair as the realization sunk in.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

In silence, what was there left to do but worry? What was there to do but look around and be aware of how wrong things were? A cell, old and worn, cold cinderblocks and ancient iron. Old flickering light bulbs. Outside, across from his own cell in another row, were heavier reinforced cells. Thick iron doors with only a slit to peer into and a slit to deliver food.

This must have been an old prison then. Very old, in fact. Maculee hadn't seen old stuff like this even in the older districts across Calcutta. This must have been one of the earliest places built on the first colonization wave.

He wasn't a history expert. And he wasn't even really well versed in Calcutta's history. But looking at all this old stone around him, it made sense. Calcutta wasn't exactly the best world the UNSC could have gone for.

It wasn't the crown jewel like Earth. It wasn't the pride and military heart, like Reach was. It wasn't even a tourist destination, like Arcadia was. Nor was it bountiful, like Harvest was. It was just.....unremarkable. What a better place to start a prison colony then?

Maculee looked around his cell. A simple bed. Toilet and sink. Outside beyond the iron bars of the front wall of his cell it was clear that he was inside an old cell block a few stories tall. Sitting on his bunk, he sighed. At first when this whole mess had started, he'd thought maybe it was UNSC. Maybe it was ONI spooks.

But they wouldn't run a place like this.

Innies.

There was no way in hell it would have been anybody else. And that scared him. Maybe even more than ONI did. Maculee was older. Old enough to remember a time when human beings killed other humans. Years in slipspace and cryo kept him young. But it didn't erase what the mind had aged and gone through.

Maculee stared out of his cell.

He'd done nothing wrong. He was just a dock loader. A strong pair of arms on deck and good pair of hands on loader operating controls. He'd found some extra crates on deck and was busy packing them up when suddenly out of nowhere rougher types showed up.

Started all sorts of shouting and yelling and then he spotted the guns. Tried to run because he'd realized that he'd really picked the wrong time of day to be there and that was that. Now he was here.

It didn't take them long to start up again. Innies. Everybody cheered when the Covenant was broken. When the UNSC announced an end to the war. Mac was one of the people who wasn't cheering so loud. Just because one war ended, didn't mean the old ones weren't still taking place.

He sighed.

Maybe he preferred the days of the Covenant.

Iron creaked and echoed through the old corridors, and Maculee heard the sound of boot steps on concrete. Step after step grew closer to his cell, until a rough looking man stopped in front, opening up a slit in the middle and stuffing a tray through.

Maculee stood off his bunk, ignoring the fact that the rough looking man had a pistol in hand.

"Hey, hey, I'm not supposed to be in here! You've got the wrong guy! This was all a big misunderstanding!"

The darker toned man smiled silently, something unsettling in its hollow presentation across a scared, darkly tattooed face among dark facial hair. The man walked away without a word after shutting the hatch on Maculee's cell door.

It took him a bit to realize why the man even bothered smiling in the first place.

He'd shoved the food tray in while Maculee was trying to talk, at which point it landed on the wrong side of things on the floor.

Maculee chewed on whatever bits he could scrape up, something awful for food as it was all just basic military rations. Slime really. The silence was broken again as more creaking could be heard. Maculee stood up from his bed, going out to the bars of his cell, expecting somebody to show up for him.

Except this time, he spotted a group of armed men approaching, looking similar to the first who'd visited him. Military boots and pants. Cutoff shirts and tattoos. Just like the same crowd he'd encountered on the loading docks earlier today. They stopped a little ways down from his own cell, and faced one of the sturdier armoured cells across from him.

There was some sort of commotion as the doors were opened and the armed guards shouted, in some old dialect of Earth language he wasn't familiar with, raising assault rifles as one man in the group tossed something heavy into the cell, a large black bag, before they quickly closed it shut, hitting the switch for the locks on the cell door.

Silence filled the old prison once more as a door creaked with age and boot steps grew silent. Maculee stayed leaning against his own cell, his arms hanging out through the bars as he waited to be sure. Complete silence.

"Hey."

He watched the heavy cell door where the commotion happened earlier.

"Hey. Come on. You should've told me I wasn't alone in here."

Something sounded out. Gruff and short. Distinctly a woman's voice. But tinged with something else. Partially guttural. A very strong, heavy set voice that spoke with some slight difficulty in English. But an extreme measure of authority or distaste met his ears.

"You are alone in here.......be quiet."

"Hey, look-"

Maculee was cut off by the woman who now raised her voice and obviously, smashed something metal in her cell with something heavy.

"Quiet!!!"

Maculee retreated from his cell door quietly, sitting back down onto his bunk. He looked over to the sloppy mess on his tray, sighing.

What was he doing in a place like this?

Sleep didn't come easy. That crippling sense of worry and fear was still found. Still there, lingering at the realization of things. He had been kidnapped. He was stuck in a cell. He didn't know where he was. And, most likely, his captors were Innies.

And he was powerless.

Sleep eventually found him in the wake of exhaustion, if only for a momentary respite, before being interrupted. It was slight, at first. In the background. Maculee was in a hostile environment and so his ears were on alert. Listening to all the foreign, alien sounds.

Men, people arguing. An old dialect he couldn't recognize. And there. A harsh voice. Deep, guttural. Feminine. It was familiar. He opened his eyes to dim light, quickly rolling off his bunk and onto his feet, making way for the cell bars. Peering out, wiping his eyes as his vision came to, he spotted the cell row across from him, one of the heavy set doors open.

Shouts from what sounded like several men were occasionally followed by the distinct feminine sound that was recognizable. Pain. Without warning Maculee began rattling on his cell door.

"Hey! Hey! What the fuck do you think you guys are doing?!"

There was a pause. Silence. He rattled his cell again.

"What the fuck is this shit!?"

Silence filled the cell block. And then, something unexpected happened. Or, someone. A woman, dressed no more strikingly than the men he'd seen earlier walked out from around the heavy set door a few cell rows down from him. The woman gave a smile, by all manners appearing friendly, sporting simple tied back dark hair and glasses, almost appearing as a businesswoman.

Maculee knew otherwise.

The woman stopped in front of his cell, still smiling as she looked him over.

"You're the new spook?"

Maculee leaned up against his cell, staying silent. The woman chuckled.

"Well come on, speak up."

"What?"

"The boys say they found you loitering around a shipment of ours."

Maculee shook his head.

"This is all a misunderstanding. I'm just a dock loader. I found some crates out of place and thought I'd move them!"

The woman smiled at him, chuckling as she lowered her glasses to look at him out from under them.

"You must really think we don't know what's going on here."

Maculee shook his head again.

"I'm telling you! Honest to god! You have to believe me! Look, I'm not ONI! I'm not UNSC! Check my files! Maculee Rogers, born on Harvest, July 14th, 2518!"

The woman continued to smile at him, now almost sneering.

"Oh I read your files. And I don't buy them."

Something moved in the corner of Maculee's vision, people exiting the cell the woman had come from. His eyes caught a dark blackish purple on one of the men's hands, splattered across and easily spotted on a white shirt.

"Hey, who's in that cell? Who's in that cell!?"

The men in the hallway stopped, staring coldly. The woman turned her head, motioning to them with a simple wave of her hand, before turning back to Maculee.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it. You could call her our resident bitch. She's a bad dog in the ring."

Maculee was left stammering in confusion as the woman slid her glasses back up, before casually walking off, speaking to the various men down the hallway as she went. First in the old dialect he didn't understand. And then, into English. Something he did understand.

"Don't rough him up too much boys."

Heavy breath escaped from his lips. Blood from a split lip, or his nose, he couldn't tell. He earnestly tried. Being a dockworker had its merits in strength. But in a cell, as multiple men boxed him in, lashing out with rifle butts or kicks?

The only choice he had was to let himself fall. Curl up and protect what he could. And now in the quiet of the cell block, he rested against the stone wall against his bed. The cold was a comfort to his head, at least. The world spun round as he let his head down onto his curled up knees.

He didn't know where he was. Why it had to be him. And he didn't know what was going to happen. He didn't know what to do. Something broke the silence. Down a couple cells away from him. That heavy set voice. Feminine and cold.

"They're not going to kill you."

Maculee looked up, but stayed silent.

"Your stench. You reek of fear."

Something not unlike a snort or a large exhale of air sounded out as the woman laughed. It was an unpleasant sound to Maculee. Laughter with no hint of remorse or even light hearted humor to it. It was just.....intimidating. Maculee spoke, rather quietly, head still spinning.

"If they aren't going to kill me, then what are they going to do?"

"Meat."

Maculee stayed silent.

"You're nothing but meat."

The woman laughed again. He didn't want to ask. Didn't want to dig himself deeper into this hole. But something pushed him. He was here already.

"Meat for what?"

"For the ring. For the starving."

Maculee pushed himself up to his feet, taking slow steps up to his cell door.

"So who are you then?"

More intimidating laughter.

"The top."

"Doesn't seem like it when you're stuffed in a cell like that."

Something impacted against the metal of the cell, reverberating through the old cell block as the woman snarled.

"I'm surviving."

Maculee sighed.

"Do you have a name?"

"Not for you to speak, whelp."

Maculee hung his head, returning to his bunk.

"Mine's Mac, if you care. I want to get out of here. I thought maybe we could hel-"

Another heavy snarl and the resounding thump of something on metal.

"Help yourself, human."

Mac let his head rest on the wall, going quiet. Now he knew something. Whoever was in the cell wasn't human for certain. That would explain the rough English. And the snarls.

Mac clenched his hands together tightly.

It also explained where he really was.

As if the horrible realization wasn't enough for him. As if the foreign, alien sounds of this place didn't interrupt his sleep and peace. Early in the morning, they came for him. Barging into his cell, barking orders for him, forcing him to his knees as a black suffocating bag was stuffed over top of his head.

He was hauled out, dragged by his feet across concrete. Mac struggled but was only ever met with a blow to his legs or sides that sent him lurching down to the ground. He had no idea where he was going. But he could tell that he'd must have passed through other cell blocks. Full blocks.

The stench reeked as they passed, combinations of human and alien smells, overwhelming as shouts, jeers, and screams sounded out, cage bars rattled and shook, as Mac was dragged along through winding hallways and checkpoints, until at last, there was silence. He was shoved down into a chair forcefully upon entering a quiet room.

The door shut, boot steps vanished, and Mac was left alone. Or, what he thought was alone, until the metal clink of a lighter went off. A voice, familiar to him in its cold business like nature, greeted him.

"I'm going to give you a chance. And only one. Honesty is appreciated here."

Mac was partially delirious, and tired.

"I don't know.......what I can say that........I already haven't."

Smoke wafted near Mac's nose as the woman exhaled.

"I don't buy it. Nobody just happens to find our drops."

"I swear......please. I didn't even open it. It just looked like a normal crate. Just....let me go. I won't say a word."

Silence filled the room as the woman exhaled a few more times. A lighter clinked as she sighed.

"No. We're going to do something different."

Chair legs scratched on the floor as the woman stood up. A door creaked open, followed by boot steps, before Mac was promptly hauled up to his feet forcefully. He was dragged around again, this time, listening to a conversation he couldn't understand between the woman and apparently other men.

Sound returned in the distance. Shouting. Cheering. Jeering. A mixed bag of human and alien voices. There was a pause as the group stopped, the shouts of various humans and aliens having grown close now, becoming almost deafening. Something pierced Mac's arm, a needle, causing him to gasp suddenly. The woman spoke in English once more, shouting over the apparent noise and commotion.

"Okay sweetie! This here is Rumble drug. If it doesn't stop your heart, it'll give you a boost. Now. If you're a spook, or military, you'll know how to do things. And, unless you're absolutely loyal to your front....well, than I guess you're just meat!"

The woman laughed. A cell door creaked. A deafening, cheering roar resounded from the crowds somewhere close. A rifle butt found itself in Mac's backside, as he was forced forwards, the black bag over his head ripped free.

For a few brief seconds of delirium, disorientation, and panic.

Mac understood where he was. He understood what was going to happen to him.

And then the drugs in his veins reached his brain.

Noise dulled and blurred in his ears, an incomprehensible tidal wave of shouts above him, on the upper levels of the cell block. His vision blurred under the blinding, hanging lamps from the ceiling of the block. Somewhere in the distance a high powered megaphone went off.

Mac's heart pumped, almost painfully in his chest as he stumbled forwards into the long cell block. A long, vacant hallway for only a few seconds before his eyes registered movement. Fear spiked to something inconceivable, as somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what he was looking at.

Grunts.

Roughly five of the stout aliens, spiny, dark toned, and thickly armoured under an extremely tough skin. All five of them were scrambling towards Mac from the other end of the cell block. Dark blotches covered their forearms, looking almost like barnacles found on ocean docks, threatening to overgrow the alien.

The aliens screamed in high pitched methane laced voices, their ugly mouths splayed wide open due to lack of a mask, instead, bearing a tube stuffed into their nasal passages, hooked up to a rudimentary propane tank strapped on each of their backs.

The Grunts barreled down the cell block, looking decrepit and sickly.

Starving.

Fear surged all through Mac's veins, until his heart spiked painfully in one illuminating surge. Survival instinct kicked in, and he found himself screaming back at the charging aliens, something primal and ancient from darker days.

Mac surged into action, moving. His eyes looked around the cell block, hunting. His heart pounded and inexplicable rage and hatred of the oncoming stocky aliens burned in his veins, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. The cell block was battered and broken, scarred from numerous fights.

Finding a broken down cell wall, Mac acted on instinct, grabbing the nearest chunk of rebar, and pulling. He was a dock worker. Stocky and strong. But the drugs in his system pushed him to his absolute limit. Concrete strained as he worked the rebar back and forth, the old grey stone breaking apart into dust and chunks.

Turning back down the block, Mac was barreled into and had the wind knocked out of him as the wall of rabid aliens found him. He felt pain. Across his face as a thickly armoured hand, like sandpaper, ripped across it. Fire exploded into Mac's head as he reached out for the attacker, going for the ugly face that was screaming spittle at him, finding the two small red orbs for eyes and squeezing with his thumbs.

The alien on top of him screamed in some high pitch fashion, distant in Mac's ears as his hand found the rebar wire sprawled out on the floor. The metal rod came up to his defense in one immense swing as another of the rabid aliens tried to clamber over top of him, impacting into the thick skull of the creature and denting it, sending the grunt reeling back.

Mac managed to slide up to his feet as the aliens were now in disarray, one howling at the top of its lungs, clutching at what was left of its eyes, a second, stumbling on short stocky feet, leaving splashes of blue blood on the ground.

Three of the starving, rabid aliens had backed off, uncompromising red eyes focused on him as they bared mouths full of ugly misshapen teeth at him as they crouched on all fours. The rage in his veins coursed through him, as Mac clutched the rebar in both hands.

One alien teetered near him, clutching its face, and without any sense of thought, Mac raised the rebar up, swinging it like a golf club down onto the Grunt. The alien collapsed onto the floor in a heap, as the next swing impacted its carapace like skin, cracking it and breaking it open.

Bits of bone and blue blood splashed across concrete, and the alien stopped moving.

Mac stared at the three aliens encircling him, his heart pumping.

Something primal escaped him as he charged forwards.

Everything afterwards was one long blur of motions. He remembered pain. He remembered blood. His own. And blue streaks across his vision. His ears rung like bells with the aftermath of cheering crowds. When the drug wore off, so did everything else.

He remembered piercing cold. A shower, maybe. And a time of silence and peace. He felt something across his forehead. Bandages. His chest. An arm in a sling. Mac didn't resist being dragged back to his cell. Everything was all just one giant blur to him, like he was merely watching from the backseat.

The creak of the cell door, being dropped into his bed, and the strange, almost alien feeling to him as one of the men responsible for "escorting" him back to his cell patted him on the shoulder with a less than reassuring smile, nodding as he turned and left.

The calm of the cell block lulled Mac. The foreign sounds of this place, now just background noise as he fell asleep.

Cold snapped him back, splashing across his face from a cup, causing him to shout and push for the corner of his bed, straining something in his arm painfully. That distinct business like laughter met his ears, short and crisp.

"Well, you're certainly not a spook. And you're not UNSC either. I guess your story checks out after all."

Mac stood up, shakily, to cross the gap over to the woman standing by his cell. Gripping the cage bars, Mac watched her directly.

"Let me go. NOW."

The woman smiled back at him.

"Of course, you fought rather well. Some of the others thought maybe, a little too well."

The woman winked at him.

"We both know without that little extra you wouldn't have made it. Which now raises an important question about what we do with you, a one, Mr. Rogers."

Mac rattled on the cell door.

"Let me go. Please."

The woman laughed outwardly.

"Oh, well, I think that's asking a little too much. We can't ever have a whistleblower. But, it would be a waste, just to kill you and be done with it."

The woman lowered her glasses once more, looking over the sight of the various bandages Mac had.

"A mere dock worker. Five rabid and starving Unggoy. With a little help of course. No. We could make so much off of you, for a little while, at least."

The woman tilted her head back and forth.

"How about a deal?"

Mac pushed up against the bars.

"What kind?"

"Your freedom. In exchange for victory in the ring. But not just one. We're going to throw everything at you. If you can beat all of them. I'll set you free."

Mac, slowly, unsteady and shaking, was on the verge of slipping his hand through the cell bars. The woman shook her head.

"Not now, of course. Look at you. You're a mess. You need some time to recover. It'll give you some time to think about things."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then we can either keep you in your nice little cell here. Or we can always just shoot you. Trust me sweetie. It's no hassle either way."

Mac sighed. Letting his grip falter on the cell bars as he made his way back to his bunk in silence. The woman left without another word, boots resounding out on the hard floor, before an old creaking door was slammed shut, silence filling the cell block once more.

Now that Mac was awake, and, himself again, he could feel it. Pain. His arm was in a sling. Something stung, over his forehead and across one of his eyes. Breathing brought something uncomfortable with the rise and fall of his chest under bandages.

Mac laid down in his bunk, carefully and slowly, ready to close his eyes in some vain attempt to forget all of this, when the silence was broken. That distinct feminine voice, rough and unrefined.

"That one is a coward. Do not trust her."

Funny enough, Mac found little trouble in talking. Much less than to the other woman.

"I know. What am I supposed to do, then?"

"Play along with their lies."

"But that will kill me! I can't.......I can't go back into that.......fight cell...or block or whatever."

"You must play two fronts then. Politics. And survival."

"So what, then?"

"You have strength, for a Human. Unggoy are whelps. But when starving.....they are excellent soldiers. Willing to do anything for food."

"I....that wasn't me......I didn't want to......"

"You were poisoned."

"Yeah."

"You are, still, strong for a Human. You have the strength to bear the poison in your body, without dying. That is respectable. For a human."

"I didn't want to kill them. I didn't want to fight."

"You fight or you die. The strong survive. The weak do not. This is the way of things."

"I'm just a worker....."

"You have been initiated by battle. Christened in the blood of those who sought victory over you. There is no denying your heritage. Doing so, would be disrespectful."

Mac leaned up on his bed.

"Hey. I'm not you...okay? I just want to get out of here."

"Then you must face the facts. Fight, or die."

Mac leaned down back into his bed. Either it was that slimy excuse of a woman. Or whatever the alien one was in her cell. Both didn't really leave much choice.

"Why are you talking to me?"

"We both now share a common goal, Human. I would be a fool not to capitalize on that."

"Me? What do you need me for?"

A snarl sounded out from the cell.

"You need me, more than I need you. I can, and will do this alone if I must. But, you and I share a common interest. And, a common enemy."

"So you think we should pool our resources then?"

"So long as they have the same outcome in mind."

"And that is?"

"Freedom."

Mac closed his eyes. He didn't know how. He didn't know why. Why it had to be him. Why he had to be here. But the alien in her cell was right. As....horrible as it was. The thought made him queasy. Thinking about those blurred memories.

The rebar wire denting bone and cracking through toughened skin. The feeling on his fingers as he gouged soft eyes in rage. The rebar smashing into an already dead corpse, over and over again, squishing into soft parts and splintering bone. Like meat.

Mac shook his head.

"You're right."

The sound of intimidating laughter returned to Mac.

"Good. Then we are in agreement?"

"Yes."

"Human. You and I now enter into a bond of trust. To break it would be heresy. You are aware that I will kill you, if you do?"

Mac stayed silent for a time, thinking.

"How much do I know I can trust you, then?"

"Thyra. That is my namesake."

Mac nodded, understanding. Her name was a sign of trust. Or maybe respect. She had been studying him.....

"Okay. Like I said earlier. Mine's Mac."

"Then it is done."

Mac rolled over in his bunk, slowly, watching out for his arm. It was done, she said. Mac toyed with the statement. What had he gotten himself into? Maybe he already knew. He wanted to get out of this place.

Surviving to see that day. That was his job now. Even If that meant making himself a business-like partner in the enterprise of an alien he didn't know. Mac chuckled quietly to himself as he closed his eyes.

Guess maybe he did prefer the Covenant.

Time became meaningless in the coming days. The cell Mac called home did not change, in long hours of silence and waiting. Simple cycles of rest and boredom that became maddening if one counted them to keep track.

Luckily, or rather unluckily, Mac's wounds weren't so debilitating. They were healing up, day by day. The alien, Thyra, never spoke much. The cycles for her seemed as mind numbing as Mac's. With the occasional visitors to her cell hauling in black bags. Or, when Mac was resting, she apparently was taken out of the cell and thrown into the fights.

Eventually though, Mac's time was up. Wounds healed and closed. And he felt good as new. Sure enough, a signal that this time of rest was over, was marked by the woman coming by once more. Extending a hand in offering Mac his freedom, IF, he succeeded in the fight pit.

A choice, which he really had no choice in. None the less, he played along.

Even if he knew what that meant for him.

Bright lights shone down on the long cell block, as crowds, Human or alien, on the cell walkways up above cheered in crashing waves of sound at the spectacle down below. That feeling of fire was running through Mac's veins again, dulling pain and stuffing his higher thought processes into the backseat.

His heart sped dangerously, out of fear and the drugs, pushing him to move and act. Last time wasn't enough. The crowds wanted more. Wanted to see how much he could take. Eight aliens, Grunts, stocky, starving, shambling piles of disease and rabid hunger were coming at Mac down the cell block.

The drugs in his system pushed him forward to act without relent. But, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew what he was doing. Watching as he lashed out with another piece of rebar, or threw chunks of broken concrete, trying to separate the mass of aliens clawing towards him.

Somewhere in the background one of the makeshift propane tanks on the backs of the aliens ruptured, setting the tank off with explosive force, enough to shake the cell block. The concussive waves knocked the other aliens to the floor and blasted Mac off his feet.

There was ringing in his ears from the crowds, and a ringing from the explosion, as several of the aliens practically disappeared in the blast, leaving scorch marks and bits of blue scattered around the block. Mac pushed back onto his feet, finding a hand sized chunk of concrete close by.

The remainder of the Grunts that were left were all staggering, or struggling to move as their hoses connected to their tanks had ruptured. Mac held the chunk of concrete firmly in his hand. The drugs pushed him. His body acted on survival instinct alone.

But maybe in the back of his mind, he knew exactly what he was doing. Some part of him agreed with it. This was revenge for a 30 year long war. And defiance to the faces of those he knew were watching him.

It was survival and politics.

Mac scooped up at the simple slop in his tray slowly, careful not to overwork himself. He couldn't feel anything when he had the drug running through him. He didn't feel the various first and second degree burns on his arms. Or the cracked bones in some places. Now, he did.

Now that he was left alone in the silence of his cell, having been treated. Mac sighed. His captors had this routine down. When nothing else was left moving in the cell block but him, and armed men came in to retrieve him. He didn't care.

The drugs in his system were still going strong and he would have likely been able to attack them. IF, they didn't shoot him up full of tranquilizers. Drag him off somewhere with a bag over his head. Powerful blasts of ice cold water constituted as a shower and a wakeup call from the drugs.

Picked up once more and hauled off to somewhere he didn't know or couldn't see, to have his injuries taken care of. And then stuffed back into his cell with a tray of sloppy food as a reward. Mac thought about the blurry after images of things, before speaking, of course, making sure that he was mostly alone.

"Thyra. I saw aliens up on the upper walkways. With people. My people."

For once, there wasn't a delay as the feminine voice responded to him, rough and sharp as ever.

"Creatures of similar habit flock together."

Mac looked down at the slop on his tray.

"Did you ever serve? In the Covenant, I mean."

"No."

"Then how did you end up here?"

A snarl followed by a clear tinge of resentment found Mac's ears.

"Same as you."

Mac continued eating. Thyra wasn't the best at conversation. She kept things short. Maybe because she didn't know the full extent of Human language. When pressed on, all he ever got was snarls and the resounding sound of metal being smashed.

But what she'd said was enough. This place was run by Innies. It wasn't uncommon for small cease-fires to take place with lesser species on the fringes of UNSC and Covenant space. And now with the dissolution of the empire it was every man for himself.

Mac had never been aware that the Innies had such a presence on Calcutta. But it was apparent, now, that they did. Weapons trafficking. Probably with other ex-species of the Covenant even. That would explain the mixed crowds that watched him on the catwalks up above the fighting block.

And it might even explain why he was fighting other aliens. Maybe they were prisoners. Or maybe they were captured by other roving bands and sold to this colony and its network of Innies. It would explain the prison he was in too.

Mac peered out from the front of his cell bars.

"I don't understand why they'd do this."

Thyra snorted clearly from her own cell.

"Then you are not yet aware of things."

"Do you have a plan? To get us out of here?"

Thyra snarled.

"Short of killing everything here. No."

Mac leaned back against the cold wall of his cell. Great. Obviously, she wasn't in any position to make any moves. And neither was he. Their captors were too thorough. Whatever Thyra was, she'd be stronger than a normal Human. Every time they opened up her cell they must have hit her with drugs to pacify her.

"Then how are you expecting to get out of here?"

"Patience. You and I must wait for the moment. It will come. My faith is strong."

Mac looked down at what was left in his tray, chuckling.

"Mine's not. I'm sitting here trying to escape with an alien that probably tried to kill my entire race for 30 years. And I'm trying to escape because I'm locked up by my own fucking people!"

Mac threw his tray across his cell, listening to the resounding sound of metal on metal as it reverberated through the empty cell block. The silence persisted as Mac scrunched himself up into a corner on his bed, until Thyra broke it once more.

"Unggoy. They would turn on one another for the promise of food and warmth. The Kig-Yar. Their way of life is betrayal. Even the Sangheili, who proudly proclaim honour, send assassins in secret to oust new Kaidons. The San Shyuum pull on strings in the backstage. Jiralhanae, vie for the top position in the pack. Why would your kind, be any different?"

Mac sighed.

"I thought we were better than this. I heard all the stories out there. I was there. It was an invisible war. But still there. The tension was there in the outer colonies. And then....you showed up."

A deep reverberating chuckle sounded out from Thyra's cell.

"There are stories. Of first contact with the Covenant. My people resisted at first. The men of our clans, proud. The Master pack, wishing to claim independence, free of chains. To forge our own path, bowing to no one. But there were tribes, lesser packs, who vied for power. They bent their knees to false gods. And with gifts, they claimed power. And our species fell."

Mac chuckled back.

"I think the Covenant had a habit of doing that. Shooting first and asking questions later."

"You would not be wrong. It was those so called cowards that saved us. The Covenant was, unbending. They would have destroyed us."

"I think I see what you're getting at."

"You do what you must to survive. Even if that means your enemy becomes your friend."

Mac paused. Thyra had a point. It was all true to be sure. The names she listed off of alien species. He didn't know them. Mac only knew them in Human slang terms. But she was right. Maybe everybody was like that. But it raised another question.

"If we get out of here. What happens?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Where will you go? How will you get there? Have you given it any thought?"

Thyra snarled.

"Have you?"

Mac leaned his head against the cell wall.

"I....no."

Mac thought about it. He'd been here for....... Weeks? A month? He didn't know. And suddenly it dawned on him. What would HE do? Could he really, seriously, go back to being a dock loader after.....this?

"How can you be so sure of things if you don't know what happens after we get out of here?"

"I hold faith that things will settle into place."

Mac closed his eyes, resting.

"Thyra. What was it like for you before this? Your life, I mean."

"Every pack has one who is leader. He who is fit to command, the strongest and wisest. No Chieftain is complete without a Shaman. Shamans are not as concerned in physical matters as much as the Chieftain is, and so they earn their place by proving that it is they who are the smartest over the strongest. My place was taken from me."

"That's how you ended up here then?"

By now, Mac could almost tell when Thyra was liable to snarl. It wasn't her being aggressive to him. It was her way of displaying something. Something more relatable and more human than Mac gave credit to.

"How'd it happen?"

"My pack had dealings with Kig-Yar merchants, who had connections. To here. In the interest of preserving our place and power, we needed weapons. I oversaw things personally. The Kig-Yar must have been paid a fortune because it was they who turned on me, and it was them who delivered me here."

Mac nodded quietly.

"Guess you'll go after them huh?"

"They did not take me quietly. Kig-Yar have vast networks. Those who were left would disappear like spirits."

"What about....your......pack, then?"

"The one who bested me. I know her well. Under her guidance they will remain strong. Your kind have a saying. A chip off the old block of stone."

Mac opened his eyes, staring across at his cell bars.

"No. Your.......daughter?"

"None could have conspired such a plot. She is as ruthless as she is smart. She has earned her place. Of which I accept."

Mac paused, thinking.

"So, what's left for you then?"

"I do not wish to waste time tracking those that are left who wronged me. I could not return to my pack for death would be my sentence. Males, may take pride in their sons slaying them in combat to claim leadership. But, I could not bear to force it upon my own daughter."

Mac closed his eyes once more, staying silent. It was hitting home again. Mac was not conversing with one of his own. The alien across from him a few cells down belonged to a completely different culture. The rules weren't the same for her when compared to him.

And yet, still. She was right. She made a crude, sort of barbaric sense.

Right now, there really was nothing else to focus on. It was just surviving to be able to see freedom.

The rest would come afterwards.

Time turned into a slow grind over the many long days. Burns didn't heal quickly and fractured bones took time. At the very least, Mac's captors made a point to let him recover before putting him back out in the ring. He was thankful for it. The block always retained a quaint silence to it, which was both convenient and troublesome.

Mac had only one person to talk to, Thyra. And, she wasn't much of a conversationalist, not for long, at least. Mac learned the rather funny truth as to why this cell block was quiet. When it was previously full of captives, Thyra made so much noise that they were left with no choice but to move everybody. The alien preferred quiet, it seemed. And was more than a match in strength, or voice for any to handle.

Mac sat on his bunk, idle against the wall as he talked.

"Hey. How come I haven't seen them come in here for you much?"

Thyra's common, intimidating laughter sounded out.

"I'm their best fighter. To use me on any other than the best would be a waste."

Mac frowned.

"So, if I survived long enough.....would I eventually have to fight you?"

The cell block took on a rather uncomfortable still, momentarily.

"Yes."

Mac stayed silent, absent mindedly unwrapping the bandages around one of his arms to inspect things. The burns were almost gone. Moving around didn't bring pain anymore. He sighed. It wouldn't be long, then. He'd end up back in the ring.

Darkness suddenly flooded Mac's cell as the old light above him flickered and then went out with a ringing sound. All around the block Mac heard the same thing, as he stood up from his bunk quickly. All through the block, in sudden total darkness Mac heard clinking. Old, ancient powered locks disengaging.

A smile creased his features. It couldn't be. A power surge. And this old place didn't have a backup generator working. Mac rattled on his cell bars in near darkness.

"Hey! Thyra!"

These moments were crucial, and, somewhere in the dark, Mac could hear stirring. The sound of an ancient old door being pushed open. Heavy set feet echoed through the block on the floor as footsteps made their way ever closer towards Mac, stopping in front of him, surely. From the invisible darkness Thyra's laughter sounded out, that distinct, feminine, yet commanding tone, much, much stronger and intimidating in person.

"See how my faith is rewarded."

Iron cell bars creaked and groaned, bending and snapping in the dark, to which Mac suddenly backed away from as the same heavy footsteps moved towards him. Mac found something thick and oppressive around his neck, threatening to crush his windpipe as he was lifted off the floor like a plaything. Thick skin, smooth but obviously beaten or scarred, feeling thick as iron held Mac up in one hand as Thyra inhaled deeply, snarling.

"Now, freedom has come at last. Give me reason as to why our agreement should not end, here and now."

Mac kicked at the air, reaching up with both hands to grip at an arm that felt like a tree trunk, as thick skinned as Thyra's hand but boasting something soft yet tough. Fur like hair.

"You're.....smarter than.....that.....Thyra."

A deep reverberating laughter sounded out, as the grip on Mac's neck was loosened and he was set down onto the floor.

"Good. You stay true to your word in person even under threat. I am, smarter than that. But the question fell to you as well."

Mac sputtered, choking for breath before speaking.

"I can't see."

"A problem that will be fixed shortly."

Thyra inhaled deeply, hinting at the no doubt enormous lungs she must have boasted for her size, which at this point Mac knew was something not to take lightly. Thyra snarled.

"They are coming. Stay here. I will return."

Left with little choice, Mac stayed put, as Thyra moved away from him in the dark. Her heavy set footsteps grew distant, before a howl broke the silence and caused Mac to jump. Thyra's primal yell reverberated through the block, echoing strongly.

If they weren't coming before, they would be now.

Mac stayed low to the floor for the entirety of the encounter. Thyra did attract attention to herself, to which armed men responded by entering the cell block with assault rifles. Of what Mac could tell, the fight was short. Thyra must have ambushed them from above because he watched flashlights flicker across his vision, upwards, to which the unmistakable sound of gunfire echoed out.

At this point, it was too late however, and from the screams from the guards and now obviously primal howls coming from Thyra, none of them likely survived the encounter. Silence filled the cell block for a time before Thyra's footsteps approached, now being led by two flashlights. Light shined into Mac's cell as Thyra spoke, handing out something to him.

"Take it."

Mac reached out slowly, feeling the metal and materials, the distinct shape of a gun Mac was all too familiar with in appearance. An Ma5b Assault Rifle. Mac spoke in the dark.

"I've never used one of these before....."

Thyra snarled.

"Your weapons are like toys. But still, they have their uses. Point and pull the trigger."

Mac found his grip on the assault rifle, finding the ammo counter in the darkness and holding the rifle forwards towards Thyra. The rifle's flashlight revealed Thyra from out of the dark, showing him for the first time, who was behind the cell door. Mac did a slow intake of breath as he looked over an eight to nine foot tall wall standing in front of him.

Dark, Grey skin that looked tough and thick, etched in pale lines and blotches, scars. Every inch of Thyra that he could see was scarred, and not only that, but boasted the curved or toned features of muscle. Mac knew exactly what she was. He'd seen them before, albeit larger versions of her kind, males obviously. The only slang term he knew them by, a Brute.

Thyra wasn't as thick set as the ones Mac had seen, boasting obvious feminine features behind her apparent muscle, which was still formidable enough to be equal to that of a wiry body builder or athlete. Silver grey fur lined the outside portion of her arms, and as Mac raised his rifle up, past tatters and scraps of what looked like animal skin and dulled, worn metal armour plates across her chest and on her shoulders, Mac met sharp, deep, orange-yellow eyes.

Brutes were always hard to describe for Mac. And, Thyra was no exception. At best, she reminded him of a large primate, with distinct features like that of an ape, with pronounced skull features. But at the same time, he might even say canine as well. Two rather large fangs pressed out from her bottom jaw, her lips hinting at more sharpened rows inside.

Patches of silver white hair grew behind her cheeks, connecting up to her head, together, all being pulled back until they were cut short, leaving one long strip along the top center of her skull like a short Mohawk. She was a Brute to be sure. Thick tough hide, muscle enough to bend or rip through an iron door or people with ease. But softer features persisted over the male soldiers Mac had seen in his lifetime.

Thyra seemed less......Brutish then Mac was accustomed to seeing.

That was, until her nose flared and she inhaled sharply, suddenly standing tall above Mac as her back straightened out. She sneered, showing off hints of her teeth.

"What?"

Mac lowered his rifle, letting the light fall farther down, close to the ground.

"Nothing. I just.....I wasn't expecting you to be so.....well....big."

"And likewise. Your species is pitifully small."

Thyra shifted, turning around and walking away, ducking under the hole she'd ripped through Mac's cell, leaving Mac to stumble along behind her, raising his rifle to find his way. Behind her, like he suspected, was a somewhat ornate band of silver white running along the back of her head. As Thyra walked, Mac noticed bones, holding a braid together where her ridged hair ended, clinking against the worn down armour on her backside.

"So, what's the plan?"

Mac took long steps in a hurry, trying to keep up to Thyra.

"We kill anything in our way."

"To get to where?"

Thyra stopped, turning on the spot to Mac, baring her distinct, bright eyes on him.

"I haven't considered that yet. Right now, everything in the way dies."

Mac couldn't tell if what Thyra was doing was a smile, upturning her mouth on those two fangs of hers. But her eyes were different than the rest of her. They were dangerous. But they were also intelligent.

"Can you keep up?"

Mac noticed the splashes of red on the floor he was standing on. He didn't move his flashlight any further. Looking over the towering frame of Thyra, Mac didn't have to guess what she was capable of inflicting on a person. And he didn't want to see, either. But this was the only choice he really had. Thyra was his best shot of getting out of here in one piece.

"I'll manage."

Thyra nodded silently, turning back around and moving forwards. With any luck, Thyra would do most of the hard work. Mac was going to keep his eyes open. Survival wasn't just about killing everything, after all.

They still needed to find some way of escape.

Thyra seemed to know where she was headed, even if Mac didn't. The old prison was a maze of corridors and checkpoints blocked by barred gates, and by now, Mac assumed, larger than he first ever considered. It must have been partially underground. Iron bars and doors did little to stop Thyra as she bent them like paper, stepping through them to continue forwards.

As the two pushed forwards in the dark of the facility, Thyra stopped, inhaling sharply and shining the light of her rifle on the floor. Bloodstains filled the path ahead of them, luminescent blue, splashes of red, and dark purple.

"This was recent."

Mac looked up to the alien beside him, stopping at the assault rifle in her hand, which did look a lot like a toy when compared to her, holding it out in one hand alone.

"How can you tell?"

"The scent is still strong."

Mac ignored the splashes of red here or there that persisted on Thyra, looking down the dark hall with his own light, taking note of all the spent cartridges splayed across the floor.

"Everybody else must have broken out too."

Thyra was still smelling the air as she spoke.

"This was a chase. It reeks of fear."

Thyra stepped forwards suddenly, pushing past Mac down the hall as she rounded the nearest corner. Mac followed, realizing that he was following a blood trail that went around the corner, which stopped on a man. Mac could see that he was still breathing, but didn't have anything left in him to raise his weapon. Thyra reached down, lifting the man up to his feet off the floor with one hand.

"Where were you fleeing to?"

The man's head slunk. Obviously he was delirious, managing only a few jumbled words out before going silent. Thyra snarled, dropping the man onto the floor. Mac stared down the hall at the various corpses, human or alien. Prisoners or Innies. Even the walls had managed being splashed with bloody patches and smears.

In the relative silence close by, Thyra smelled the air, shining her own light down the hall. Mac looked over to the larger grey skinned alien.

"You think they've all gone?"

Amber-yellow eyes turned to him.

"I think they had a head start. The cowards must have fled and the imprisoned are either all dead or still searching."

Mac lowered his rifle in the dark.

"What do we do then?"

Thyra snarled.

"We keep searching."

Sure enough, Thyra was right. Their cells must have been deeper into the facility. The only thing they found, no matter where they went, was the same story. The Innies had lost control, cut their losses and retreated as a mob tidal wave of aliens or even human prisoners gave chase.

Mac could sometimes even see the story, as he walked. Right there, as some man in scraps of clothing, looking as starved as any other, beside one of the tough, thick skinned Grunts. Even the bird like Jackals. At that point, a common enemy transcended even old hatreds.

Mac smiled silently as he kept up a steady, quick pace next to Thyra's slow, but long strides. The same thing could be said of him and her, really. It was kind of ironic, actually. To Mac, that sort of oddly funny turn around was much needed. He didn't like looking at the scores of the dead, alien or human, as he walked.

Their path led them in silence all through the facility, past more scenes of firefights and mobs, all dead or close enough, to quiet sections that remained untouched. Mac eventually spotted the writing on the wall, pointing it out to Thyra. A hangar bay. Maybe, if they got lucky, they might find something.

Mac thought about it, as they followed the arrow trail painted on the walls.

"Hey. You think we'll find anything in the bay?"

"Perhaps."

"If we do, what happens from there?"

"We leave this place."

Mac continued walking along in hurried steps. She was staying true to her pact, to be sure.

"Thyra. Back in the block. What changed your mind about me?"

"You smelled of fear, uncontrolled. And now you do not."

"Really?"

"You reek of everything that comes with your kind. But different, or not, it is to be respected that somewhere, you have a warriors instinct."

"Oh. Thanks. I guess..."

Thyra's intimidating laughter met Mac again, now, for once, visible in person under a flashlight as she bared her lower fangs and her canines in open laughter.

"You flinched in person but when confronted with threat of death you did not."

"You're saying.....back in the block. You would have killed me?"

"If you were not fit to stand beside me. Yes."

Mac nodded, silently, pushing along before being stopped by Thyra as she held a dull silver-white furred arm out.

"I smell human weapons. Fired recently. Some are still here."

Mac shined his rifle's light ahead of him, over to two large doors that were closed shut.

"Hey, that's the loading dock! We're close to the hangar bay!"

Thyra smelled the air once more, snarling as she turned on the spot, shining her own weapon's light down back where the two had come from.

"More are coming. Unggoy. Kig-Yar."

Mac turned back to face the hallway with Thyra.

"We're pinned then."

Thyra suddenly began laughing, as Mac heard the telltale sounds of footsteps on the floor plates, and the high pitched chatter of grunts followed by the hiss of jackals ahead, not far in the darkness.

"Show a whelp who is in charge and they will follow. Are you ready?"

Mac understood. The doors behind them hadn't opened yet because Mac and Thyra had stayed quiet. Mac checked the ammo counter on his rifle and nodded. Thyra roared into the blackness ahead of them, breaking the silence as she sprayed her assault rifle one handed, raising it up proudly.

"Those of you who were imprisoned! Rise! These doors stand between us and freedom!"

Mac held his rifle up to see grunts, jackals, and even other humans in the emerging crowd that came from out of the darkness. A mix and match group, practically a tidal wave. Some grunts, starving and decrepit like the ones Mac had fought with. Some of them wore old, worn down Covenant armour. Ex Covenant soldiers. Humans, of every colour, beaten and worn down, like he was. Jackals, as ragged as everybody else. Thyra raised her rifle up once more, howling as the crowd emerged, joining her with their own cries.

Behind them, the seals on the doors began to whir, as power from backup generators on the other side went to work. Mac turned alongside Thyra, pushing close to her as he held his gun towards the door.

"We stick together right?"

Thyra chuckled as the crowd of prisoners enveloped them, passing around the two of them to join all as one.

"Only if you can keep up."

Mac watched as light streamed through a crack in the doors as they parted. Even without drugs, he felt it. The pumping of his heart. This was it. This was the end. It was all or nothing. No matter what or who was on the other side of that door. Mac closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them to a yell of his own and the erupting kick of gunfire from his rifle as the crack in the doors grew wider.

As the bay doors slid open a wall of gunfire mowed down the first line that tried to break through. Under any other normal circumstances Mac knew that the entire group would have scattered. But not this lot. As the first wall of prisoners went down, any that had procured firearms returned fire.

Thyra waded tall above everybody else in the crowd, roaring as she fired with one hand at the first visible targets. Mac had never used a rifle before and the kickback knocked his aim upwards, spraying rounds into a floodlight mounted on the ceiling.

The first volley from the Innies stationed behind the door ceased as return fire deafened Mac, as the mob pushed forwards. As another floodlight was taken out things became visible now, and any with guns started firing at identifiable targets, soldiers taking cover behind a hastily erected barrier of heavy crates and other things. The mob pushed into a full charge, spilling through the doors and spreading outwards in all directions.

Mac sprinted over to the nearest crate as streams of bullets tore past him, ripping into aliens who didn't manage to take cover with him in time. All around him there was sound, blending together in one enormous symphony. Gunfire, the howls of aliens or humans in the fray.

Mac leaned out from the side of his crate, spraying his rifle at a man who was using another crate as cover, firing on the scattering mobs. The man went down in a spray of blood, leaving Mac to rush the distance alongside the advancing mob.

The barrier had broken now as rabid tides of grunts and jackals clambered over the boxes to set themselves on those holding the line. Firefights broke out in individual sections of the bay now as the mob fanned out in all directions.

Mac had lowered himself down, and with shaking hands was trying to collect clips from the fallen soldier he'd killed, when a shout in a dialect he couldn't understand left him suddenly looking up to the barrel of a gun as another soldier stepped out from cover.

Mac had no time to react.

He closed his eyes in anticipation of the sound of gunfire, and received what he was expecting. Rifle fire barked out. A scream sounded out and something clattered onto the floor. Mac opened his eyes to witness the grey-white wall that was Thyra smash through a crate and into the man she had shot, bashing him away with a heavy swing that sent the man off his feet through the air to slump on the ground several feet away, unmoving.

Heavy yellow eyes focused on him as Thyra held a tough, clawed hand out to Mac, which he took, practically thrown through the air himself as she hauled him up without effort. Thyra only had a chance to nod briefly as Mac met her gaze before a spray of bullets hit the floor nearby.

Thyra turned on the spot with a roar, taking huge strides forwards before leaping up through the air towards a catwalk where the gunfire erupted from. Mac grabbed his rifle from the floor, taking in the carnage as the bay officially erupted into a bloodbath.

If prisoners weren't being mowed down by groups of soldiers, soldiers were being pinned down one by one in isolated sections and ripped to pieces by rabid aliens or even humans. Corpses littered the bay and blood of all colours splashed everywhere. The smell of gun smoke was everywhere. And then Mac spotted it.

Sitting there, all on its own, thick in the middle of the fighting. Green and standing tall underneath a heavy industrial crane grappler attached to the ceiling. A Mantis Loader. Without even knowing it Mac was already running, ducking behind crates in a mad scramble towards it.

Mac sprayed volleys from his rifle haphazardly towards the far wall and catwalks suspended above where the Innie soldiers where regrouping, trying to hold the only door left to the hangar bay beyond, before he slowed his pace. The loader towered over him even when its legs were crouched down, as Mac quickly stepped up onto one of the legs, reaching up to the cockpit and hauling himself upwards.

Sliding into the black seat that fit him like a glove, Mac instinctively flicked switches, speaking under his breath.

"Power check, full systems diagnostics, hydraulics, check, cameras and motion sensors check, gyro stabilizers, check, yes! This is what I'm talking about!"

The hatch over the loader closed over top of him and the sides of the machine closed, sealing him in completely, as power flowed. Screens came on and Mac smiled as he felt the rumble of the loader come to life, as it stood tall on powerful hydraulic legs.

Mac's hands found the control sticks and watched on the display feeds as two arms raised up, boasting heavy square clamps. Gunfire was pinging off the hull of the loader as Mac stood tall above the entire bay now, able to see every single entrenched position of Innie soldiers who were still holding their own among the mob. Mac grabbed the radio mic and pulled it close, flicking a switch on the control board.

"Come on you mother fuckers! You're in my arena now!"

Mac dropped the mic and took the controls, stepping forward to bend down, one of the grappling arms closing around the nearest crate. More gunfire pinged off the solid hull outside and Mac found the source. The catwalks above in the far back of the bay. Mac twirled the control stick and twisted back, before putting all power into the hydraulics and snapping the loader's arm forwards, releasing the grappling arm's grip.

The crate flew through the air gracefully, up over the bay, up over the hordes down below, and directly into the catwalks, smashing into them and battering through support lines as the weighty crate crushed and bent metal, the catwalks sagging dangerously before snapping from the ceiling and crashing down below onto the bay floor.

Mac strode over the bay floor, smashing through crates and pushing forwards towards the sealed doors of the hangar bay, watching as prisoners scrambled out of his way and soldiers were flushed out from under his feet, left to the ravenous mob behind him. In the collection of crates, Mac spotted Thyra, taking cover as a line of soldiers kept her pinned.

Gunfire shifted onto his loader as soon as he was spotted, but too late, as Mac did some fancy work on the control sticks, overloading the hydraulics in one leg, lashing out into a bundle of heavy crates, sending them flying forwards directly into the group of soldiers, who vanished under a tidal wave of steel and titanium boxes.

Mac leaned his loader down to face Thyra, even as gunfire still pinged off his hull, grabbing the mic.

"Think you can keep up Thyra!"

Even on the screens Mac could see. The snarl behind sharp canines and the quick nod to him in acknowledgment. Mac smiled, rearing his loader back up to full height, focusing on the hangar bay doors as the last of the soldiers fell silent in their gunfire or screams, the loading bay now having been completely overtaken.

Mac checked the systems on the loader, taking note of the damage sustained, before looking back to the doors ahead as he pushed the loader forwards. Dumping all power into the legs and arms, Mac forced the grapplers through the door at full power, shaking as his loader collided.

Steel and titanium groaned as Mac pumped everything into the legs, struggling to stand fully upright. Warning sirens blared as metal and hydraulics strained, but the heavy, military grade door began to rise off the floor. Mac yelled into the mic, watching as the survivors scrambled forwards below the legs of the loader into the hangar bay.

"Move it! You haven't got a lot of time!"

More gunfire erupted from the other side and a warning siren sounded out as a set of hydraulics in the loader's leg began to fail, the cockpit shuddering as the machine struggled to compensate for failing balance. Mac flipped a switch and the top hatch opened, only halfway as it jammed, parts grinding together to make the worst sound possible right now.

Mac swore as the loader shuddered, beginning to lower as oils leaked out of one of its legs, the hanger bay door going with it. Something heavy landed on the roof of the loader with a thud, and Mac looked up to see two clawed hands grip the roof hatch, straining as Thyra ripped the hatch free, throwing it down to the floor below.

Without so much as a word Thyra grabbed one of Mac's arms, pulling him up painfully, to wrap another arm around his waist, before she jumped the entire way down off the top of the loader to the floor, landing with heavy blow to the floor as metal plates bent on impact.

The next moments were a blur as Mac watched the failing loader tremble, the warning sirens becoming critical as the hangar door lowered inch by inch. With a roar Thyra threw Mac, sending him through the air to sprawl across the floor and slide under the door, as she charged forwards and dived, sliding under as the loader's power gave out, and the door closed shut with a slam that shook the facility.

From one fight to the next, the few who'd made it to the other side quickly discovered that this bay was still occupied as well. Most had spent all their ammunition to get here and were left with nothing. But, not Thyra. Even without ammunition, Mac watched from sections of cover as he kept his head down.

The Brute seemed to have gone into a full out blood lust, as she was a grey-white blur, hunched down, traveling on all fours, acrobatically, and easily able to jump or climb over cover or just smash through it, into the soldiers defending the bay. Mac eventually did procure himself a rifle once more, and did his best to help take the bay, inch by inch, until the space became host to a deafening roar as Pelican engines ignited.

A heavy caliber mounted gun on the front nose turned as the craft maneuvered delicately, and Mac hit the deck as the gun spun, revving loudly before the bay was ripped through by a torrent of lead, ripping apart crates, aliens, and even other Innies in a desperate attempt to kill Thyra as she rampaged across the bay and through anything standing in her way. Too late, as the primal alien leaped high through the air out of cover, to land on top of the Pelican.

Thyra howled into the windshield of the craft, clambering down over the front of it, balling heavy fists together as she hammered on the glass repeatedly, cracking the windshield and eventually gaining her prize, smashing through the glass outright to find the pilot inside.

Mac crawled out from cover, to see the end of things, before propping himself up against a now splintered, blown apart crate. He didn't need to see what Thyra would do, but, whether he liked it or not, as the engines died down, he could certainly hear it, before the bay shuddered and metal screamed out as it bent and broke, the Pelican colliding into a wall and finally coming to a stop.

Silence filled the bay.

Mac stood up from the carnage, peeking out around from the decimated shipping crate he'd hidden behind. Near complete, total silence. No gunfire. No screams. The Pelican's engines faded as they powered down. All around him across the deck plating, spent cartridges. Corpses from both sides.

Even as Mac turned his head in both directions, nothing moved in the quiet devastation. Until Thyra climbed over top of the crashed Pelican, setting free another primal roar that echoed through the bay. Even from here Mac could tell something was wrong. The way she moved, the way she acted.

And it was cemented when she caught sight of him and jumped down from the Pelican and broke off into a charge coming right for him, able to move quickly on all fours. Mac's heart spiked but he held his ground, raising his rifle.

"Thyra! Stop! It's Maculee!"

The grey-white wall of slender muscle roared at him as she covered ground dangerously towards Mac, before something went off in his head like a light. Of course, the UNSC released information on the various species of the now ex-Covenant empire!

Brutes had an extremely keen sense of smell. They made excellent trackers and hunters. Part of their own language was silently pheromone based. What was important now, for Mac, was that he not act as an aggressor. Mac threw his rifle aside quickly and held his hands up into the air.

Thyra continued her charge in her frenzied state towards Mac, closing the final distance in her large strides, as he faced her, unflinching. Thyra slowed, skidding on the metal plates to a stop in front of Mac as he held his arms up and stayed still like a statue.

Thyra stood back up to her full height, towering over Mac by several feet or more, bearing down on him as her sharply defined, simian like face met his. Mac could recognize it in her eyes. They were unfocused, full of rage, as she inhaled sharply before spreading her maw of teeth apart and roared into Mac's face.

Mac closed his eyes as spittle flew by and he got a blast of something he didn't want to smell, before he too, took a deep breath, opening his eyes again to speak as calmly as he could manage in the face of Thyra's imposing frame.

"Hey. It's me. We made a deal, remember? We won, Thyra. You. And me."

Thick ridged eyebrows lined with patches of white fur furrowed as amber-yellow eyes returned to focus. Mac really was as still as a statue as he held her gaze with his eyes, fearing that if he looked away it might provoke her. But to his relief, Thyra's labored breathing slowed, and with one deep intake of breath, she returned, completely.

Thyra stood back up to her full height, looking over Mac. Her eyes darted past him to something in the background as she spoke.

"Good. Victory is ours, then. We should leave this place."

Thyra walked past him, leaving Mac to close his eyes and exhale, realizing that he'd been holding his breath. He turned in silence to stare across the bay, to the only intact Pelican left. Thyra was already headed towards it. Mac began walking forwards quickly, trying to catch up to Thyra.

"So, you just want to leave? After all of that?"

Thyra snorted.

"Males may gloat over battle or claim trophies. But it is not my place to do so. The dead are dead. We are still alive and we have the means to escape. Why waste time?"

"What if there's any others alive in here?"

Thyra kept walking.

"My pact was with you. To no others do I extend my hand. They will find their own way."

Mac stopped in his tracks, looking out across the bay. Scores of dead lay across the floor. It didn't matter which side they belonged to now. Discarded weapons. Spent cartridges. Blood of all colours, blue, purple, red, all ran together.

"Just like that?"

Thyra stopped in her tracks now, turning back to Mac.

"You and I, did what was necessary. And now it is time to leave. There will be time to dwell on things later. Come. I do not know how to pilot this craft. I require your aid."

Mac looked away from the scene in the bay, focusing his gaze on the tall, grey skinned, white furred alien clad in battle scarred and scorched armour plates across her vital areas. His head was suddenly spinning. In just a few short moments, he had seen so many sides to her.

All there, suddenly laying bare to him. She stayed true to her word, and never truly faltered from it, coming to his aid when he needed her the most. To such an extent that he felt compelled to help her in return. He had just seen her rage with her bare hands alone, rip apart soldiers, humans, his own species, and in her beserking bloodlust, had nearly killed him.

And now? She did not gloat. She didn't even seem to take any sort of pride in what she'd done to get here. She seemed calm, collected and composed. And despite all of it. Everything that Mac knew about her. Everything that she was, seemingly uncaring, ferociously strong, and calculatingly cold.

She had just openly asked Maculee for help.

Her white fur was stained with blotches of red. She stood roughly eight or nine feet tall and she had just finished personally ripping an entire hangar bay's worth of armed soldiers apart with her bare hands, and yet, there she was.

She needed help.

Mac didn't understand it. He didn't even know if he felt sick right now, looking out across the carnage and the aftermath. Or if he felt some fleeting sense of pure joy, maybe, realizing that he was just a few steps away from escape. Regardless, he started walking forwards again, helpless not to smile, suddenly.

"I took a basic training course on flying these things. I don't know how well I'll do."

Thyra tilted her head as Mac walked past her.

"I have faith that our fight to arrive at this end will not be rewarded with swift death due to poor ability."

Mac walked up to the rear end of the Pelican, stepping up onto the loading ramp.

"Thanks. I guess."

Mac remembered enough however, igniting the engines and carefully raising the craft off the ground vertically, to rise up the shaft that the docking bay lay down at the bottom of. With relief, Mac found that the doors to freedom on the ceiling were open, leaving him to carefully wobble the Pelican through and above, to rise into the night.

Thyra had managed to pack herself into the Pelican's hangar, and was leaning outside against the cockpit's door frame, as Mac flew at a somewhat shaky pace.

"So. Where do we go from here?"

Thyra's eyes traveled upwards to cold night sky, devoid of any sort of moon, but filled with stars.

"Up. Beyond the planet."

Mac looked back to Thyra.

"Calcutta doesn't have an orbital defense grid. And the sensors say we're remote. Past detection equipment. Far up north. The only place I ever knew here is down by the equator. I don't think we've even got enough power to get that far."

Mac gently eased down on the control sticks, bringing the pelican into a slow upwards climb. Thyra snorted.

"And you would go back to your old life?"

Mac watched the black expanse of stars grow bigger as the Pelican slowly rose through the atmosphere.

"I don't know what else there is now."

"Then you are not a fool."

Silence followed for the next few minutes, as the Pelican slowly climbed upwards through the atmosphere, as both Mac and Thyra watched. Ever so slowly, things became lighter, until finally, the weightless sensation of space found both of them. Mac eased off the controls, lining the pelican up into a slow drift, facing the cockpit towards the looming planet down below.

Both him and Thyra watched, in silence, as he shut things down and turned out all lights, leaving only the looming form of Calcutta through the cockpit's windows. Mac, finally, was the first one to break the silence, as they slowly drifted over a patch of light in the night, the only major city to be found on the planet.

"I had a life, down there. I can't go back to it now. How could I?"

Thyra watched the maze work style glow of the city lights down below.

"On my home world, I had a life. It was taken and claimed. Returning now, would grant me nothing."

"We don't have enough power to go anywhere far. We don't have a slipspace drive. And.....you're, well.....you. As fringe as Calcutta is I don't think anybody would accept you walking around in broad daylight."

Thyra snorted.

"Likewise, I would not accept the company of your kind."

Mac turned back over his shoulder.

"So what does that make me then?"

"The bond you and I share goes beyond our species. You and I are kin through battle and suffering."

Mac sighed.

"I don't want to go back down there. Not after what I saw. Not after......what I did. I don't want to fight. I never want to touch a weapon of any kind. But.......how? How can I just walk away?"

"The same way I can't. Your sentiments are more sensible than you think."

Mac looked back to Thyra once more.

"I honestly don't know if you're joking right now. You. Everything you stand for. You want to leave it behind? Just forget that you can.....rip apart people with your bare hands or......... that you're a natural killer?"

Thyra snorted.

"Forget, no. Move on."

Thyra raised two thick skinned hands up, holding them outward to show Mac the silver-whitish fur that lined her wrists and arms.

"This signals my age. I have gone from a youth, to a young elder. Such a feat is respected among my kind. To survive. I have survived. But, perhaps, it is time for me to think about what comes after surviving."

Mac's eyes strayed from Thyra's display, to find dark blotches floating past her. On closer inspection......he hadn't even seen it before. She was bleeding. Mac undid the straps around him and pushed himself out of his seat.

"Hey! You're bleeding!"

Thyra's eyes drifted down to her shoulder. A worn, scarred hunk of metal that served as a rudimentary pauldron told the story. Even she wasn't bullet proof. Thyra snarled, baring sharpened teeth.

"So I am."

Mac watched her.

"You're not.....going to do anything about it?"

Thyra snarled back.

"It is not of your concern."

"There's bullet holes in your shoulder!"

"Males are not concerned for such things. It is the undertaking of other females to provide aid if necessary."

"I'm not your species. Your rules don't apply to me."

Mac paused. He'd not quite noticed it yet. He was stepping on a potential landmine with Thyra right now. Mac eased up.

"Listen. There's medical stuff on board. You can't pull bits out of your shoulder by yourself. I help you. You help me. That's the deal."

Thyra's brows furrowed as her eyes sharpened and she inhaled a deep breath, taking on a look Mac wasn't familiar with. Was it defeat? Resignation? Thyra's mouth slanted in a frown of sorts, only managing to be intimidating to him as sharp fangs were bared.

"Fine."

Thyra moved backwards in the low gravity, back into the space of the Pelican's bay, letting Mac leave the cockpit to search for medical kits while black-purple blood drops floated about aimlessly.

Small chunks of metal floated about, twirling aimlessly alongside specks of blood, one after the other, alongside a heavy lump of pauldron armour plating. Thyra remained silent through the whole ordeal, the only hint of anything showing on her mouth as she tensed, baring fangs. Luckily, the armour plate stopped most of the impact and Thyra's own thick skin did the rest.

Mac worked along, sewing larger wounds shut if he could, admittedly no easy task to even puncture Thyra's hide, and nerve grating when he had to use more than necessary force to pull things shut, praying that he wasn't finally breaking whatever patience Thyra had for him.

Mac reached out to a roll of gauze as it tumbled close by.

"I would have used a can of bio-foam. But....that stuff is made for people. No telling what it could do to your system. Old fashioned way it is, I guess."

Thyra exhaled slowly, eyes focused on Mac.

"My kin have shown being able to stomach such things that are not native to our world."

Mac didn't have any words for that. What little he did know about her kind, he knew that they were called Brutes for a reason. Where the tall stoic warrior Elites were brutal fighters, Brutes themselves were.....monstrous even outside of fighting. Like eating. Mac remembered black bags being hauled into Thyra's cell.

He didn't have to guess what was in them.

He hadn't noticed as he worked until now, that Thyra was taking slow breaths. Calm and collected as a needle pierced skin back and forth. He knew there was more going on though. She could probably smell his discomfort right now. Mac changed the subject.

"I think we should head back down when I'm done here."

Thyra stiffened up, Mac watching as muscles on her arms tensed.

"Surely, not to your city?"

"No. I don't think I want any of that anymore. And I don't think I want to go traveling off-world."

Mac watched Thyra's eyes.

"I don't think you do either."

Thyra said nothing but Mac knew she was thinking about it. Which was his chance to make his point.

"You told me about survival. Back down there. You do what you have to. You know.....Calcutta is remote. I mean, only one city down there. The rest is all just.....free space. There's nobody out there. I don't know about you. But being alone out there? I think it wouldn't be easy to survive alone."

Thyra tilted her head.

"And who says I would be alone?"

Mac nodded.

"That's the point. You and me. I land this, somewhere down there. Far away from everything. And you and me? We figure out where we go from there."

Thyra inhaled sharply as Mac finished the last of his work, snarling somewhat before turning to watch him face to face. Something vaguely familiar to Mac showed itself, still managing to be intimidating as more of Thyra's teeth showed themselves in a smile.

Mac wasn't the best at landings, but still managed to ride the atmosphere down in a slow burn without scrapping the Pelican. It took some time before the both of them decided on it. But now, through the ever thickening atmosphere in an early morning dawn for Calcutta, lay Mac's trajectory. Far up north, in the middle of one of Calcutta's slow, gentle and shallow oceans, lay a patchwork of large islands.

The lack of a moon assured that Calcutta had little to no mountain ranges, slow winds and a rather permanent season of mild weather all year long, and vast stretches of shallow oceans to go along with wide tracts of land, resting apart like splinters in island chains. This far up north, there was nothing up here for anybody. No wealth. No resources to be claimed. No tactical advantage or even anything grand.

Except, maybe for those who wanted isolation from it all.

Mac watched the starry night up above under the light of a small fire, resting atop the cool metal hull plating of the Pelican's roof, now partially buried under dirt and soil where it had uprooted trees upon landing. Down below in the trench the pelican had carved, Thyra sat on her own by the makeshift fire, close enough for Mac to speak.

"It's been a really long time since I've seen the stars. How about you Thyra?"

From the fire down below Thyra spoke.

"Clear nights were rare on my world."

Mac watched all the points of light in the pure black sky.

"Thirty years ago......hard to believe it's all changed, Thyra. War. Did you ever think it would turn out like this?"

"No."

"Do you think it was better, back then? Simpler?"

Thyra snorted, suddenly.

"Better for my kin? No. Now we are free to choose our own path."

"Same for mine Thyra. And look what they chose. To start up old grudges."

Mac paused.

"I thought.......if we would've learned something through all that......it would be a little value about how we looked out for our own."

Mac chuckled.

"And now I'm out here with you. There wasn't.......a damn person in there that I could trust but you. Shows how far we've come hasn't it?"

Down by the fire, Thyra's usual intimidating laughter sounded out.

"Fighting has always been a part of my people. Had my successor been raised another way, she may have killed me and claimed my place. She spared me. For any male, a deep shame upon them when a victor shows mercy. For me? I welcome the chance to try again. As should you."

Mac closed his eyes on the starry sky above.

"Thanks. I guess."

"We stick together Maculee. I consider you a pack brother, now. Do not abuse that or I will rip you apart."

Mac chuckled.

"I wouldn't doubt it Thyra. I wouldn't doubt that at all. Thanks for being up front about it."

Thyra snarled in response, leaving silence behind in the night as Mac fell asleep. For once it was calm. There were no sounds to stay alert for. No screams or shouts or people coming with guns down a corridor. No cell walls. No gunfire. The stench of aliens and blood. No pain and no drugs.

Thyra had a point. He was here now. They were, actually. He'd done it, then. He was free now. He'd survived. Maybe he hadn't come through in one piece. But he'd come through. And now it was time to decide where to go from here.

That could wait until the morning.

Mac pushed through plant overgrowth in the early afternoon sun, past thick ferns and great tangled masses of roots that stretched outwards towards the ocean water down below from dry land. As dry land gave way on a gentle slope ridged with patchwork patches of vines sticking out like long lines of stitches, Mac waded into shallow water.

As far as the eye could see ocean stretched out, dotted with small blotches of dark blobs, smaller island chains in the distance, all the way out to the horizon, as slow waves rocked the shoreline. Mac sat down in the sand and shallow water, scooping handfuls of it up to wash himself, tempted to just lay back in the sand and do nothing.

The water wasn't ice cold and it wasn't forcefully pushed over him from the end of a hose. But the quiet moment faded and gave way to something else as Mac noticed the water around him going dark shades of colour. Of course. How could he not have even hoped to make it through what he did without being drenched in something?

Whatever blood there was on him, whoever it belonged to, from multiple people or aliens no doubt, it all washed away under the water and ran together, leaving Mac feeling somewhat clean, finally. But he didn't like watching the water cloud and darken. So he pushed himself up and started wading along the shoreline.

Mac stared out across the stretches of ocean as he walked. It was peaceful out here. But something bothered him. Made him restless as he waded aimlessly along the shoreline. The blood that had washed away from him was long gone now. But for some reason, it seemed to linger in his head. It belonged to people. Aliens. Both of them storming forwards in a great tide towards certain death as bullets put them down.

Mac opened his eyes and continued forwards, shaking his head silently as he walked along until he noticed something large on the corner of his vision. Thyra must have had the same idea as him. Already he noticed that she looked better even from a distance. Nothing stained her fur and it no longer looked dry or patchy, and the thick skin of hers wasn't defined by being dirty anymore. Instead it looked better under sunlight and Mac could see clear lines, her scars no doubt, much more clearly now.

The alien turned as she picked up his scent, wading towards him in the water easily as if it were just a puddle. Mac looked over to the collection of bandages on one of her shoulders.

"How's your arm?"

Thyra snorted back.

"Fine."

Thyra inhaled sharply before turning her eyes down to Mac.

"What troubles you?"

"The prisoners."

Thyra stopped in place, standing tall above Mac as usual.

"It should not be of your concern."

"We left the ones who were still alive down there. I don't think there's any way out of there but through the landing bay which is a few hundred feet of vertical landing shaft."

Thyra snarled.

"Then that's their problem. Not ours."

"But that's the point. They helped us get out of there. Hell, you rallied them when they found us. You took charge and they all listened."

"We had a common enemy."

Mac paused, looking out to the ocean.

"Who says we still don't? What about that woman? You know the one I'm talking about. She, and people like her, are still out there."

Thyra watched Mac carefully, staying silent.

"Look. I can't sleep at night knowing that the person who did that to me is still out there. I can't.....just sit out here. It doesn't feel right. You.....of all people, I think would understand that. I mean.....look at you. You're......."

Mac quickly paused. How could he not have seen it until now? He was so preoccupied with thinking about other things that he didn't even notice it. He didn't even think about it. Thyra usually wore something. Metal plates over her shoulders, some huge hunk of metal over her chest and something ornamental in tatters hanging from protective armour on her waist.

Mac turned on the spot to leave quickly, but felt something heavy on his shoulder. Claw like fingers and a grip that could bend steel like paper. Thyra snarled.

"Finish your speech. I am what?"

"You're a fighter."

"Then why turn away from a fellow warrior in the middle of something important to say? To show such disrespect...."

Mac felt the grip increase on his shoulder, deliberately slow and calculated as Thyra held a low snarl. Mac tensed as his breath slowed. The only thing right now that he could give was the truth.

"Culture differences......Thyra. I didn't mean any disrespect to you. You're not wearing anything. My kind......we've got some rules about that."

Thyra's grip held but didn't increase. Mac didn't think it was possible to tense up any more than he already had but he managed it as Thyra began slow laughter. Intimidating as ever.

"Lucky for you I'm not of your kin. Those rules do not apply to me. But I respect you for treating me as if I were your own. Even if your customs are.......strange. But you are no whelp. It is impolite to turn your back on me as if you are one."

Mac inhaled sharply. It shouldn't have been a problem. The things that he'd done, or seen. And somehow here he was getting worked up over an alien. Something, no, someone, who wasn't his kind. Still, though. He wasn't expecting it. Although silver white fur covered most of Thyra's sides, he had caught a glimpse of an all too familiar shape and outline.

Alien or no, compared to all the other races out there, Brutes seemed strangely human in their features, albeit tougher and of course, still being aliens after all. Mac sucked it up and turned around, Thyra letting go of his shoulder. Thyra tilted her head as her eyes narrowed, staying focused on Mac's.

"Now. Warriors. I am not a warrior but I know how to fight. I do not seek battle. But I understand that it can be necessary. I take no pleasure in chasing after the glory or thrills that males do."

Mac shook his head, keeping his eyes on point.

"You can't honestly tell me you don't want to find the people responsible for doing what they did to us? How long were you in that cell? How long were you treated like trash or beaten while you were down? I saw what they did to you. Hit you with tranqs and then gave you their best shots when you couldn't fight back."

Thyra snarled back.

"It is not of your concern! It is not your place to worry."

Mac shook his head.

"No. Maybe that's your kind. Maybe that's how your guys do things. Well I'm not them. I'm a human being. I took an oath, or a pact with you, whatever you want to call it! I'm going to live up to that because so far, you have."

Thyra leaned down to Mac's level, inhaling sharply as she smelled the air.

"Your customs. I find them strange. That you would send your females into battle alongside your males. That your males would be allowed to stray back into softer fields of submission to others, perhaps even females."

Thyra tilted her head, baring sharp teeth in another smile.

"But your support for me is......not unwelcome."

Thyra inhaled sharply again before standing back to her full height. Mac's eyes strayed briefly, catching more of a view of things. Every part of her had scars, somewhere. Every part of her body showed visible muscle structure from underneath her thick hide wherever it could. And yet.....even in his brief glimpse he could spot more subtle features. Mac directed his attention back to Thyra's gaze.

"Think about it Thyra. I know it's nice up here. I'm not running off to go fight because I enjoy it, or that I want to. I just....."

"Want those who wronged you dead."

"I don't know. That woman. I don't know if I could......"

Thyra snorted.

"I would."

Mac paused, looking down at the soft water at his feet.

"That daughter of yours. The one who put you into all of this. If it were me? If I was there for it all. I would. Just....think about things okay? I'm heading back to the Pelican."

Mac turned, wading through the shallow water slowly, left in silence by Thyra, who watched him go, but smelled the air one last time.

It wasn't long before Mac heard something behind him. Thyra stepping through the shallow water with ease no doubt. The Brute closed the distance to him easily with her larger strides, slowing down to keep a steady pace alongside him as he walked back to the main island along the shallow outskirts of the sea.

"You are not quite unlike some males of my kin, on thought."

Mac stayed quiet as he walked, keeping his eyes on point.

"But our differences leave room for flexibility. If I were to say yes to your proposition, Maculee, would you follow me?"

Mac turned his head up, quickly passing over Thyra's frame and up to her face to focus on it.

"I've always been following you. You're the leader here. Not me."

"And you would do as I asked? You would follow me without question?"

"So long as you made sense about things. Yeah. I would."

Thyra's deep laughter rang out beside Mac.

"So, we are in agreement?"

Mac nodded.

"Yeah. You're more qualified than me. You're more ruthless about things. Stronger than me. You're the only reason I'm here right now."

Mac felt Thyra's grip on his shoulder again, followed by more laughter from her.

"Normally, on occasions like this, when a new Chieftain claims leadership, there is celebration. I am no Chieftain, but a Shaman. Therefore, I will not have to submit. You will."

Mac raised his eyebrows as he watched the smile on Thyra's face.

"Hey... I'm not your kind, remember?"

Thyra laughed again, something Mac could only figure as a chuckle.

"That's the point. You're not. The rules don't quite apply."

Thyra's grip shifted to wrap itself around Mac's neck, lifting him off his feet suddenly, left dangling above the shallow water as he was raised up to face Thyra from the front. Thyra's eyes took on a dangerous light as she bared all of her teeth with a smile as Mac struggled, kicking at the air.

"Don't think that I can't smell it on you. The scent is weak but it is still there."

Thyra suddenly dropped Mac back into the shallow water, leaving him to gasp for air briefly, only to have the Brute loom over him.

"Your scent betrays what you do not speak of."

Mac shook his head in response.

"Hey, listen here, I'm not one of your kind....you've gotta have something mixed up here......"

Thyra snarled, lowering herself down to one knee, face to face with Mac. Thick set eyebrows raised as Thyra bared her teeth, inhaling once more as her nose flared.

"Then you yourself are not yet aware. How strangely developed your kind are."

Mac made a point to keep strong eye contact, the edge of his vision straying onto the silver-white fur that thinned out under Thyra's neck and gave way to bare hide below, fighting not to be allured to recognizable shapes that hung from her chest. Mac put on his best poker face.

"Hey, look, I don't know what you mean......."

A heavy set hand pushed Mac down, allowing Thyra to overtake him as she snarled.

"Allow me to grant you understanding. After all, tonight will be a time of celebration."

Mac had no time to speak as the towering alien leaned down completely, overtaking him with her larger frame. As much as Mac could have tried to maintain any form of civility or focus, none of it would have worked as Thyra draped her breasts across him and straight into view, their pendulous weight matching the proportions of her frame as they squashed across him, being hefted across his face as Thyra bore down on him.

Mac simply froze up, letting things happen. There was no fighting the immense alien on top of him. And, now, suddenly known to him, the attraction of feeling Thyra so close to him. Through the tatters of his clothing he could feel the skin across Thyra's front, easily defined and shaped by her muscles, hide that was thick and tough but strangely, still given smoothness by her muscle structure despite her numerous scars.

Weight pressed down on Mac, immensely heavy on him, but not enough to crush anything, as Thyra settled in. Shallow waves lapped the two of them, and Mac found himself raising his arms out of the shallow water to find the thick forearms of Thyra as he wrapped his own around the outside layer of fur on them, shown light again as Thyra pushed herself up, her immense chest left hanging above him in tantalizing view.

Mac's eyes strayed upwards ahead of the sight, to find Thyra tilting her head downwards with a fanged smile as she inhaled deeply once more.

"You are aware of things now?"

Mac was. His heart had jumped in sudden excitement, and he was all too aware of a growing tightness on his hips as Thyra put pressure over top of him, aware of the sudden lack of space he had to move certain things.

Any other day, he might have protested this. Thyra....she wasn't human. If anything, she was as far as possible from one, heightened even more by her customs and manners. Years ago, during the war, humans could've have ended up as food for Thyra's species. And Mac himself had almost been killed by her more than once already.

So how he ended up here now, he didn't know. How he suddenly felt comfortable being practically crushed by the larger alien on top of him, smothered and pinned, he couldn't answer.

But it wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen as of late.

And it wasn't the worst.

If it was survival, fear of being ripped limb from limb by Thyra in a rage, then this was easily more preferable. If it was politics? Mac suddenly figured he'd probably done pretty well to land here right now. Maybe he didn't have to ask why. Maybe he shouldn't. Maybe.....he could just follow his own instincts on this. Mac watched Thyra, the alien features on her face, frightening in some aspects, yet deeply reminiscent as if her species where some long lost offshoot of ape and human and something else in between. Mac nodded in return, silently, watching as fangs were bared and Thyra pushed off of him, easily hauling him up out of the water with her.

Thyra inhaled sharply, snarling.

"You will come with me."

Mac nodded, protesting nothing.

The trip back to the Pelican was silent, but none the less busy for Mac as he watched quietly. He found his reservations suddenly absent about looking over Thyra in more detail. He hadn't seen it before, but among her myriad of scars, across bare patches of her tough skin where pale fur was absent, Mac found markings.

Something like ink, now faded with time, a dark crimson etched in ornate patterns across her back and shoulders where fur was absent, down her spine and spiraling down the back of her legs to wrap around the sides. A glance from the side showed the same ornate patterns across her chest as well. Anywhere there was bare skin, those small ornate etchings followed.

With a growing sense of awareness for things, Mac couldn't help but to slowly appreciate Thyra's body in some strange way. Not as bulky as a male of her species, but still easily defined by powerful muscle, and yet shaped in a way that still showed softer features. A gentle arch to her back. Wide hips on powerful legs and thick set thighs.

Mac hadn't spotted it before under all of her worn, heavy armour plates, but he had to admit now, Thyra had a uniquely attractive build to her. In a strange, primal sort of way. Mac hadn't given it much thought yet, as they returned to the simple makeshift clearing the Pelican had blasted out on impact, but he hoped that in this case, Thyra wasn't too......rough.

An answer that he found himself doubting as Thyra practically snarled at him to take his clothes off when they found themselves in the quiet comfort of the Pelican's hangar.

Cool floor plating pressed at Mac's back, as a wall of muscle, hide, and short, softer fur pressed at his front. Thyra was bearing down on top of him again, this time with more intent. Thyra's heaving chest squashed across his, only briefly, before she strongly commanded him with the barking of a simple word.

"Suck."

Mac understood. And he wasn't complaining as the larger alien draped her chest across his face, smothering him again in heavy weight. Once more Mac was surprised. Despite her scars, despite the toughened hide like skin, it wasn't as rough as he thought it would be.

Mac, on instinct, brought his hands up, but was suddenly held down as Thyra snarled, placing her own hands over his and forcing them back down onto the deck plating. Thyra pushed herself up, her breasts left to dangle just out of reach of Mac, as the alien sported a toothy smile across her face.

Mac played his part, fighting to push himself up to those few vital inches, being rewarded with success as he found his lips around one of the large, darker toned nipples of Thyra's breasts. Mac felt weight press down on him again as Thyra responded, muscles rippling and flexing from pleasure and softer flesh enveloped Mac once more as he was engulfed in Thyra's massive bust.

Mac did as he was told, sucking and teasing, only being allowed to move if Thyra wanted it, shifting her position to allow him access to her other unattended side as she pleased, back and forth. Having taken his clothes off, Mac felt every detail to Thyra now as her skin came into contact with his, even down to what felt like the steady, powerful thump of dual hearts and an enormous set of lungs.

Mac couldn't help himself not to be aroused, wanting to move his hands somewhere, but he was pinned, with Thyra in complete control and him at her smothering mercy or strength. Somewhere lower, he could feel warmth as Thyra became more receptive to his efforts, and in the quiet of the bay, Thyra snarled.

Something new to Mac, not the commanding or irritated snarl he was used to, but something softer and heavier to match her excitement. And as her excitement grew, another primal aspect of Thyra became apparent, as she snarled, pulling herself away from Mac to change position.

In one quick motion, Thyra stood to her full height, grabbing Mac around the scruff of his neck to haul him up with her, quickly pinning him against the wall and door to the cockpit. Thyra's toned stomach pressed against Mac's and he found himself smothered once more, the practical canyon like gap of her cleavage easily accommodating for his head as her heavy set breasts enveloped him on both sides, being pressed and draped on top of his shoulders.

Mac looked upwards to a mouth full of sharp teeth and fangs being bared completely as Thyra's eyes took on a dangerous look to them, commanding and primal. Her chest heaved, rising and falling as she placed both of her hands on the metal plating beside Mac's head, lowering herself to eye level with him.

Her mouth trembled as she snarled, Mac staying rooted on the spot and keeping direct eye contact with her as she spoke in a lower tone than normal, quietly commanding to him rather than just a question.

"Do you think you can keep up?"

Mac raised his eyebrows, keeping a smile as he took a risk, letting his hands finally roam free, reaching to rest on Thyra's fur covered hips, gripping tightly.

"I think I can manage."

Mac remembered it in a tired haze now, hours spent trapped or pinned under Thyra in some manner. He'd said the words jokingly but really, he didn't know what to expect. What he got was several hours' worth of being exhaustingly used as if he were a mere ragdoll.

If Thyra wasn't pressing his head in between her thighs and demanding that he lick, or pinning him against something with her own weight and strength, the alien either rode him relentlessly, or, because of their awkward difference in size, grabbed him and forced his hips to join with hers over and over even long after Mac had since worn out.

But, even if it was tiring for Mac, perhaps even frightening as Thyra became more primal the longer the time went on, snarling or howling at him, he couldn't deny that some part of him enjoyed it. And now that quiet had finally descended with nightfall, Mac could truly appreciate it.

There was no makeshift fire tonight. Only the pitch black sky under endless numbers of stars. Thyra had taken to resting on her back, finally spent and satisfied, while Mac had remained content with laying on top of her. Now keen on feeling the rise and fall of her chest, or the smooth transitions between muscles under her thick skin, etched and carved into with tribal markings and a lifetime of scars.

Under dim starlight Mac mused on things, pinned under the grip of Thyra as her arms held him closely to her, not uncomfortable for him from the provided warmth. He didn't know what this was, really. She'd saved his life. He'd saved hers in return. The alien underneath him was loyal. Frightening to him in her rage and strength. Smarter than he would have first guessed.

But, he knew there was more to it than that. He didn't need to smell pheromones to know it. Didn't need to read body language well to understand it.

Whatever old life Mac had, it was gone now. Replaced by something else as of yet unformed. The same with Thyra. Perhaps, she too was now considering the merits of her own species' brutal culture. But Mac couldn't ignore the reality now.

He and Thyra shared a pact through hardship, and now, maybe something more. The alien had a measure of respect for him that she didn't let him see so openly. And he knew, without a doubt, she was charmed by his caring for her. Saving her life, helping, listening. And, he could admit it. She was oddly agreeable in a charmingly barbaric way to him as well.

Through barriers of steel and iron, they'd walked free. Through barriers of culture and species, they'd broken free. Through hardship on both sides, they'd survived.

Mac understood now.

Thirty long years of war. Having lived long enough to know of a time when man fought against man. Having lived through an age when man was no longer frightfully alone in the galaxy but now, frightfully outmatched and outgunned.

And finally.

Living in an age where the lines were beginning to fall apart. Where once an enemy stood, there could be an ally, or friend. And where old alliances once stood, some of them shattered.

But he'd done it.

He'd survived all of it. And now, the road ahead was uncertain. What they'd find when they returned to the prison, he didn't know. What would come of it, Mac couldn't say. Somehow he doubted Thyra could either.

But he'd be starting over. And he wouldn't be doing it alone. Mac took one last look at the stars, closing his eyes for the night with a satisfied smile, held in the grip of the larger alien underneath him.

The road ahead wasn't clear, but that was okay for Mac. Maybe he'd take a page out of Thyra's book.

And let instinct guide his way.