Is it just me, or is the Library dying? Not many people post here any more. It's depressing to be quite candid.

 Part 41 - Death is not the end

The Flood infection form looked curiously at the body lying before it. It sent a query to the central mind, which quickly verified that the body was dead. Most likely killed by one of the Descendants' primitive weapons, a clean shot at close range.

The infector crawled on top of the corpse, removing the helmet with two gentle tentacles. It peered down at the face. Male. He looked old, although Descendant ages were always hard to tell, as it had been with their Creator Ancestors. Hairs of grey flecked his beard and hair. The body's eyes were closed, a smile playing about his mouth.

All this meant little to the infector. Bringing out two razor sharp limbs, it placed them both on the kevlar vest of the corpse, noting the hole which had been punched straight through it. Composing itself, the infector cut away the vest, leaving nothing but a thin Descendant uniform covering the body. Rows of shiny metals were placed in alignment across the body's chest. Results of a query sent informed it that they were called 'medals'. Further queries showed that these particular medals indicated that the man in life had been a prestigious soldier.

Perfect.

Morphing the tips of its limbs into dagger sharp knives, the infector sank two limbs into the Descendant's dead body, soon coming across the heart. It seemed remarkably healthy considering the man's age, but it was quite dead.

The infector soon came across the reason for the Descendant's death. A bullet had punched through both lungs, rendering it so the possessor of said lungs couldn't breathe. Medical records showed that this was not a pleasant way to die.

And so the first thing the infector did was repair the punctured tissue of the lungs, filling the holes with tough Flood biomass. The lungs inflated with a large dose of pure oxygen the infector injected into them. But that wasn't enough. The body was still dead.

Wrapping its limbs around the heart of the corpse, the infector began procedures to start it again, injecting a special chemical naturally produced by the infection form.

After a minute or so, the infector felt a pulse come from the body, as the heart began to kick. The body jumped as the infector jolted the body with an electrical charge, designed to shock it into action.

Heart rate was steady, and brain activity was normal. The body was alive -- unconscious, but alive.

Taking precautionary measures, the infector deadened the arms and limbs of the resurrected Descendant, and now dipped into the body a third tentacle, through which the Flood super cells could be injected into the body. These would infect it.

Losing itself in the procedure, the infector released the super cells inside the blood stream of the Descendant. The cells began to latch on to the natural ones of the Descendant, and...

Nothing.

That was strange. The body's cells should have been hijacked by the stronger Flood ones. Instead, the super cells were transmitting a failure signal to the infector, citing that the DNA was too erratic.

It had to be an error. The Descendants were difficult to infect, but never before had an attempt to infect one resulted in the unthinkable -- failure!

Trying again, the infector released another shot of super cells into the Descendant's blood stream, but the same situation occurred. This was wrong.

Rather than a mere query, this time the infector chose to contact the core mind directly. The Gravemind soon appeared in the infector's consciousness, imposing and vast.

Is there a problem? The mind questioned telepathically, sounding angry.

The infector relayed the situation, which intrigued the Gravemind.

You must be making a mistake. I shall assume direct control and see for myself.

The infector felt its own consciousness get pushed to the back of its mind as the Gravemind possessed it.

The Gravemind, through the infector's form attempted to infect the body before it, which was beginning to stir. Once again, despite the Mind's presence, the Flood super cells failed to work as intended, this time actually being devoured by the body's primitive defences.

The Gravemind drew back from the Descendant's body, looking curiously into his eyes, which were beginning to open. The Descendant's eyes were unfocused for a few moments, before becoming affixed onto the infector.

The Descendant swore, seizing the infector's body roughly with his two arms. The anaesthetic had worn off.

You are an anomaly. How is it that you resist? the Gravemind questioned, speaking into the Descendant's mind. The infector stared helplessly through its eyes, unable to control its body.

The now standing Descendant drew out a knife from it's belt, driving the infector's body into the nearby wall with one hand. The Gravemind simply stared, impassive and uncaring.

How? it demanded.

"I really have no idea," the Descendant replied, before driving his knife into the weak body of the infector. The Mind fled the body, leaving the infector in control again. It squealed, raising its tentacles pathetically.

The Descendant slashed his knife across the infection form's neck, ending its pitiful life.

Suddenly, the Gravemind's thunderous voice roared across the ship.

"Kill the anomaly! That is a priority order!" It rumbled to its minions.

Chief Petty Officer Franklin Mendez bent down, and picked up his weapon, popping a magazine and loading a fresh one. Let the bastards come.

* * * * * * * *

CODENAME: SURGEON opened the wooden gate leading up to the small house in the centre of the Cole farm. A Border Colley, tethered up, began barking at him.

Slowly, with both excitement and doubt, the Surgeon moved to the front door, which was wooden. Wooden doors proved just how out of touch from the rest of the Galaxy this small colony was. It only had a population of a few thousand. No wonder the Covenant had decided to just leave it alone.

Taking in a deep breath, and straightening his tie, dusting down his black as midnight suit, the Surgeon raised one trembling hand and knocked three times on the door.

Lights came on upstairs, and inside the Surgeon could hear a few other dogs barking. There were footsteps inside the house, followed by a harsh scolding of the noisy mutts. The Surgeon had heard that reprimanding voice dozens of times when researching Cole. He had the right place!

"I told you last week, I'm not interested in your god *** retirement home!" an old, gnarled voice called from the other side of the door, before promptly wheezing.

The Surgeon found he couldn't speak. His mouth had dried up, and no sounds would escape his throat. Nervously, he coughed, and replied.

"I'm not here about that sir. Can you open the door please?"

There was grumbling from the man on the inside, but soon enough the Surgeon heard the sound of locks being unlocked and bolts being removed. The door opened.

What the Surgeon saw was quite shocking. The man standing before him was Cole, no doubt about that. Surgeon had seen his face far too many times to have any doubts about that.

However, Cole didn't look anything like he once had. He was dressed in a dressing gown, maroon, which looked as if it hadn't been cleaned for months. His hair had begun to fall out, his eyes sunken into their sockets. In his hand was a half empty bottle of red wine, so early in the morning too. He wore a wedding ring on his right hand, which implied that the Surgeon was right, and that he had been reunited with his Insurrectionist wife. His beard, which had once been mostly black tinged with grey, was now mostly grey tinged with white. Obviously, Cole didn't take very good care of himself. Then again, he looked to be quite physically fit for his age.

"What do you want?" Preston Cole demanded suspiciously. Then a look of cunning crept into his eyes. "Wait, no, I can guess. You're dressed smartly, so you're not another farmer looking to lean on me for the winter. However, from the look of you it's clear that you don't live on this planet, you're obviously a city guy. You look to be in your forties, maybe in your fifties, and you have an air of confidence about you. That implies that whatever the organisation you work for is, you rank high in it. Not from the retirement home, as we already cleared up. *** bastards there piss me off. You don't seem to be a debt collector, you're not intimidating enough."

Cole paused for breath, putting his hands behind his back as he peered at the Surgeon.

"No, I reckon you're a government worker of some kind. Police? I doubt it, the investigators here dress casually so they don't look imposing. You could be a court official, but your suit is too dark for that. It's likely you're military, since I can see an official looking stamp on the papers hanging out of your coat pocket. Definitely not directly associated with the UNSC, I can tell if a man is a soldier or swabbie. Intelligence, probably. Not one of the lower, private firms. No, you have the look of an Office of Naval Intelligence man about you. Section I is unlikely. Section II don't do this sort of thing. That leaves Section III as a possibility, but then the files would be available for the UNSC to view openly by an officer with enough clearance. ONI probably doesn't want people to know I'm still alive yet. It could cause dissent. And so, the only logical explanation is that you're Section Zero, which means that you don't officially exist. You probably have a codename of some sort."

The Surgeon was at a loss for words. He knew that Cole was intelligent, but hadn't prepared himself for just how preceptive his was. Cole was nearly as good as him. Nearly.

"That's incredible sir, but I would have told you anyway."

Cole's eyebrows rose.

"Really? That's an uncommon trait in a Spook. It's all irrelevant anyway, I'm not interested in whatever you might offer. I'm done with your world."

Before the Surgeon could get another word in, the door was slammed in his face.

* * * * * * *

"I hate these corridors. I always intended to make to make them wider," the Arbiter muttered, taking point alongside the Master Chief, who nodded absently.

The distraction seemed to have worked. The strike team had encountered practically no resistance inside the back area of the expansive, crystalline Citadel. There had been that one squad of five Tank forms, but they'd been swiftly and easily taken care of by the Spartans. The Brutes and Elites hadn't even been needed in that small conflict.

"Bit of a cold place to live Arbiter," Kelly muttered, staring at her MJOLNIR armour reflected in the polished crystal.

"Perhaps, but you must admit, it is beautiful isn't it?" Thel replied.

"It has it's flaws," came the retort of Kelly, who was pointing at an ugly welt of biomass in one of the corners of the ceiling. Thel grew sombre, his shoulders rising and falling as he gave a sigh. Uncertainly, John patted him on the shoulder in what he hoped was a consoling action. He assumed that was what people did when their friends were upset. Spartans didn't get upset. They just got pissed off.

"Stay alert," John ordered, rounding another, generic corner into another, generic corridor. He sighed.

"Are we going to right way?" he demanded of Fred, who was supposed to be navigating a course through the Citadel to the heart.

"Looks like it. Pretty quiet in here sir," Fred answered, striding forward slightly. "I was hoping we'd get to see some action."

"There's plenty of that to come Fred. Be patient," Linda reprimanded in a serene tone, smacking the barrel of her modified sniper against her palm. Fred laughed.

"I'm patient enough Linda. Remember that time I beat you in a staring contest?"

"That was over thirty years ago Fred."

"Yeah, well it still--"

Fred has just rounded the corner, ahead of the rest of the party when a beam rifle smashed against his weakly shielded visor. He was thrown against the sharp protruding daggers of crystal poking out of the wall. He drew away from the wall with a grunt, blood staining the pointed ends of the crystal, only to be hit by another rifle shot. Fred collapsed to the ground, bleeding profusely.

The sniper didn't get a third shot in. With stone cold efficiency, Linda spun from cover, and shot the Flood sniper with her own rifle. The Flood form's head detached from the shoulders, and the creature tumbled over the balcony it had been perched on to the floor below.

Kelly had already run over to Fred, who was groaning. John bent down, and, making sure his own back was covering the downed Spartan, removed Fred's helmet. He had a wild look in his eyes.

"*** shot me. Didn't even give me a chance to fight back," he rambled, blood oozing from his mouth with a sickening gurgle. John looked sideways at Linda, who shook her head.

"It doesn't look good," she said, her voice betraying the slightest hint of emotion. Fred had fallen unconscious. Suddenly, John felt himself shoved away from Fred by one of the Brute Stalkers.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded of the Brute, who was unstrapping Fred's armour. The Brute looked up, staring at John with, surprisingly, intelligence.

"I served as medic for my clan for over fifteen cycles, or years to you. I shall see what I can do," the Brute explained, ripping open Fred's underlying vest with his dagger sharp claw. The flesh underneath was mangled and bloody.

"He was lucky with the first shot, it was stopped by the helmet. However, the second shot went clean through his heart," the Brute medic informed the strike team sombrely, and John felt his blood go cold. His heart? Fred was as good as dead. John stared sadly at the shallow breathing body of his friend Fred, before frowning.

"His heart? It's the right side of his chest that's been hit!" John exclaimed, and the Brute nodded.

"Yes, the right side. That is where human hearts are located, am I right?" the Brute insisted confidently. John felt himself flow with relief and anger.

"You idiot! His heart is on the left side!" he snapped at the Jiralhanae medic, who's eyebrows rose.

"Truly? How curious. Next you'll be telling me humans don't have three lungs," the Brute chuckled. John remained stony faced.

"Enough of that, can you help Fred?" he asked, patience at an end. The Brute nodded slowly.

"Certainly, if his heart isn't damaged." The alien medic then spat into Fred's open chest wound; a great, purple slimy saliva. "Jiralhanae enzymes contain tissue repairing chemicals. An evolution which came about after millennia of feuding," the Jiralhanae explained when John looked at him incredulously.

The Brute medic worked quickly and efficiently, surprisingly nimble with his thick, sausage like hands. After about twenty minutes of work, the only evidence that Fred had ever been injured was in the form of a small, thread-thin line snaking from his neck down to his hip.

"We'll give him ten minutes, then I'll use some smelling salts to wake him up. If we're lucky, he should be okay to fight," the Brute medic finished, standing up with a smile on his face.

John patted the alien primate on the back lightly, although it felt even stranger than when he'd first had to work with the Arbiter. Brutes, working with humans? Insane.

"You did good...?" John trailed off, not knowing the Brute's name.

"Galenus," the medic finished.

"Thanks Galenus. I owe you one," John finished, shaking Galenus' shaggy, furry hand. It felt surprisingly soft.

"I was just doing my job, Chieftain. Tell us when we are ready to move out." Galenus moved over to his Brute friend, who immediately began speaking to him.

"Did that Brute just call you Chieftain?" the Arbiter asked curiously, eyebrows risen.

"Yeah, I think so," John replied, slightly confused.

"That's a sign of great respect amongst the Jiralhanae. If one calls you by that title, then it means they are completely loyal to you."

"I don't need them to be loyal, I just need them to fight," John muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

It actually turned out that the smelling salts weren't needed, as Fred woke up on his own accord after five minutes, with a headache.

"Could you not have just let me die sir? It would have surely been better than this," the recovered Spartan groaned, rubbing his head.

"There's plenty of time for you to die later Fred. For now, we have a job to do," John replied, thrusting a shotgun into Fred's hands.

"And don't I know it Master Chief."

John called for the team to assemble, and pointed down the corridor where the Flood sniper had ambushed Fred.

"They had a lookout positioned there, so we must be going to right way. Let's move out soldiers, every moment we waste is a moment closer to defeat; that Gravemind won't kill itself."

---

"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.

First! 

Nice to get some more news on MC.

I take it that Johnson never had Boren's syndrome in your FF? I was all part of the SIP?

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Whenever a thread was hijacked and there were big quote boxes and lots of flame, I was there!

Rank:Master Hijacker

GT: I DFang I

http://averagejoesgames.com

Great

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Design a Faction

http://www.halowars.com/forums/thread/795978.aspx

Nice, long part here. We're near the end, don't worry. All the pieces are in place. I feel I should have split this story into two books. Ah well. When will Eden's murderous reign come to an end?!

Part 42 - Here be Monsters...

CPO Mendez fired a heavy round from his shotgun, which embedded itself firmly in the chest of a startled Flood form. He finished off the creature with a quick slice of his knife.

"Pinnacle of evolution my ass," Mendez growled at the corpse, hacking it into small pieces so one of those infernal infection forms wouldn't reanimate it.

A serious, and rather disturbing question presented itself to Franklin Mendez. How the hell was he alive? He'd died, he was sure of that. He'd felt the pistol round fired by the treacherous Eden smash into his chest. Attempts to draw in air after that had been futile, it had been horrible. They said dying was a largely painless thing, but Mendez knew otherwise.

Obviously, the Flood form he'd found on his chest as he'd awoken had tried to assimilate him. It had certainly reanimated him, but for some reason had been unable to infect him. Maybe it was something to do with the fact he was a Spartan I? Were Spartan IIs immune as well? No, Mendez remembered John telling him how he'd nearly been infected on the first Halo ring, and how only the quick thinking of Cortana had saved him.

Only the first generation of Spartans then. It must have been one of the drugs that they hadn't used in any of the other projects. If so, then it was hardly a cure to the Flood. Out of the hundreds of SI candidates, only a couple had survived. And even they'd had to have a very specific genetic structure.

He'd let Doctor Halsey figure it out later. Mendez hoped she was safe back in England with the 105th squad left to guard her. The ODST Captain of that group had seemed a very skilled man, he'd saved Mendez from a Flood swarm at one point. What had his name been? Buck? It was hard to remember. Maybe that was a side effect from his reanimation. Troubling.

Mendez shook these worrying thoughts from his head, there was plenty of time for scientific analysis later. Right now, Captain Daniels was in trouble. Deep trouble, if Eden was with him. Deeper, if the Flood were.

He rounded a corner, grabbing a sealed pressure suit from its slightly crooked rack. Mendez gave it a quick once over, to check for any possible breaches. He'd heard far too many stories of young upstarts jumping out into vacuum without an adequately sealed suit on. The results of doing that were nasty.

The ship's interior was too hot. The lights were out, oxygen levels were shallow, Flood were roaming the dark, unstable corridors, and Mendez could swear he'd seen a tentacle in a vent at one point. Probably one of the Proto-Minds talked about in the pre-battle brief.

There was no other option; he'd have to tread vacuum to get to the Captain. ***, he hadn't done a Zero-G walk in years.

Mendez drew out a packet of C-4 from his utility belt, and jammed it onto the ship's wall. It had already had its outer hull lowered when for some reason the entire crew had been flushed out into space. The explosives would tear through the inner hull with ease.

The Chief Petty Officer activated his Personal Bubble Shield, feeling the orb cover his entire person. He then pressed the detonator, and the explosives did their job. A man-sized hole was torn in the ship's hull, and what remaining oxygen there was in the quadrant of the ship was sucked out into the dark void. Mendez activated the magnetic clips on his pressure suit's boots, which weren't very strong, and took a step into the great beyond...

...And nearly fell over. With a startled cry, Mendez grabbed onto a ridge sticking out from the hull of the ship, hyperventilating. He forced himself to calm down, righting himself. A fall in space could be fatal; if he drifted off he might never be seen again. Or worse, he might impact against the superheated energy shields above the hull.

The Captain's office was on the other side of the ship, Mendez knew. He could see the shield shimmering above the ship, deflecting projectiles thrown its way with ease. He could see Sangheilios below, ravaged and sickly.

The Elites and Covenant were being massacred by the Flood, who'd nearly surrounded them. Meanwhile, the human ships were just hanging back, being largely ignored and not firing. Eden must have done something.

After a few minutes of spacewalking, Mendez came across something wonderful. An Elite Ranger pack, floating just above him. It must have been flushed out into space with the crew.

He tried to reach it from where he stood, but it was no good. Too high. There was only one option, but it was madness. Mendez could jump for it. If he missed the pack though, he'd sail past it, eventually being burnt to death in the energy shields. Every action has an opposite reaction. All UNSC personnel had Newton's laws drilled into them from day one.

Playing it safe was the sensible option, but then every second Mendez wasted, the Flood gained a little bit more over the Elites and Covenant. Speed was essential in this situation, and to do that, Mendez would need that Jetpack.

"Ah, to hell with it. I've died before, it didn't hurt that much," Mendez muttered to himself, lining himself up with the pack. Missing the Ranger pack by even a few degrees would be mortal.

Knowing that the longer he waited, the less likely it was he'd do the act, Mendez pushed off from the hull, and found himself rising upwards. The pack grew closer, and yet so did the shields.

At the last possible moment, Mendez lashed out with his hands, grasping the straps on the Elite Jetpack. He had it! But the energy shield was still drawing closer, as Mendez rose further still.

"Crap," Mendez swore as he fumbled with the buttons on the pack. What if there had been a breach in the pack? What if all the fuel was gone? What if it was faulty? What if--

Suddenly, the pack ignited, throwing Mendez through space and smashing him into the ship's hull. Mendez let out a sigh of relief as he deactivated the Jetpack, breathing heavily.

You'd better watch out Eden, I'm coming for you, Mendez thought to himself with a smile as he secured the Ranger Jetpack around his shoulders.

* * * * * * * *

"Admiral Cole!" Surgeon shouted, banging a heavy fist on the door. "Admiral Cole!"

Suddenly, the door swung open again, and the Surgeon found himself staring down at the barrel of an eight-gauge shotgun. His breath caught in his throat.

"Don't ever call me that. I'm not an Admiral. Leave, there's no-one for you here," the grizzled old man holding the weapon growled at him. The Surgeon held his hands out soothingly.

"Please sir, let me explain the situation to you first. I wouldn't have come unless it was urgent," the ONI Investigator informed Cole, who frowned in puzzlement.

"Urgent? The Covenant's beaten. Are you telling me the UNSC can't deal with a few disgruntled Elites? That's a situation that doesn't require force, it requires diplomacy," the ex-Admiral replied, and the Surgeon realised just how out of touch he was.

"When was the last time you got news on this colony Cole?"

There was silence as the old war hero mulled the query over, scratching his scraggly beard in thought.

"About three months ago, when the last shipment of feed came in. Why?"

The Surgeon groaned, before proceeding to tell Cole about everything that had happened recently. How the Elites had begun to attack humanity again, how they'd both been on even playing fields. Then about the return of the Master Chief, who found other Spartans too. The Surgeon relayed how the Flood had infected Sangheilios, and how the planet had been a battleground ever since. And how, right now, the UNSC needed Admiral Cole's expertise. He then filled in many questions that the Admiral had, including "What the hell are the Flood?"

Admiral Cole stood in the doorway of his house, shotgun hanging loosely by his side and jaw agape. He then nodded, throwing the gun to the ground.

"I see. And what makes you think I'll help, Surgeon? I abandoned humanity when they needed me most. Aren't you even curious as to why?" Cole demanded, dragging the ONI officer inside his house and shutting the door behind him. The farmhouse was a bit of a wreck. The place stunk of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The floor and walls were dirty, and the Surgeon could see a chicken roaming around the living room, pecking at crumbs on the carpet.

"I have theories sir, but I would like to know something. Millions -- billions of people died because you disappeared Cole. How does that make you feel?"

Cole leaned against the staircase banister, the old, rotting wood creaking under his weight. He lit a cigarette with a shaking hand, closing his eyes.

"Terrible. I know I'm a coward, you don't need to tell me that. But in all honesty Surgeon, I was afraid. The Covenant were gaining on us, and eventually I wouldn't have had any ships left to go on my suicide runs. I was a broken man. Suffering from depression. I didn't tell anyone about it, but it was true. If I'd carried on the way I had been, I would have ended it all eventually. Then what would the galaxy have been left with? Not with the image of a legend going out with a bang, taking an Armada with him, but with the sad depiction of the only man willing to directly fight the Covenant, beaten and broken. I'm not making excuses, but I had reasons spook."

"You're forgiven Cole. Totally and utterly. You can atone for what you did in the past; become a Hero once again. If the UNSC knows Admiral Cole is fighting with them, then hell, we might stand a chance against the Flood after all. The Covenant and Elites fear you too, they'd be more inclined to listen to humanity with you on our side. Please; I'm begging you. Help us in our darkest hour," the Surgeon pleaded desperately.

There was silence for a few moments, in which Cole buried his face in his hands, breathing deeply. Finally, he looked back up at the Surgeon with moist eyes.

"I need to think this through. Go wait in the living room, please. I could be a while."

The living legend then turned away, tightening his grubby dressing gown a little bit, his slippers flopping pathetically as Cole trudged up the stairs, stooping and mumbling to himself.

Can this beaten shell of a man actually do anything to help us? The Surgeon wondered to himself, shaking his head doubtfully. Still, he complied with Cole's wishes, and went to sit in the living room, lifting disgruntled chicken off a chair so he could ease into it.

* * * * * * * *

Eden swore rather vulgarly, before staring down at the bleeding Captain at his feet with a little sympathy.

"We're leaving this ship, Captain. I'll upload fleet control to my PDA, don't you worry. Perhaps if we're fast enough, we might be able to stop you bleeding out. This should help."

The Admiral opened a medical cache, fumbling around inside. He came back towards Graham with a canister of biofoam and a syringe full of what looked to be pure adrenaline. After firmly telling the blurry eyed Captain to hold still, he injected him with the wound-sealing foam and then jabbed his arm with the adrenaline shot. Slowly but surely, Graham felt himself returning from the brink of death. He coughed.

"Why the hell did you do that?" he demanded, breathing slowly. Eden looked down at him.

"Because you're human. Don't try anything funny Captain, I may have saved you, but I wouldn't hesitate for a moment before shooting you in the head."

Graham rose to his feet, and weighted up the situation. Eden was armed, alert and dangerous. Graham was none of those things. He decided to go along with Eden's plan -- for now.

"What do we do about the Flood?" Graham asked the Admiral, who was preparing the Captain's lifeboat. Eden shrugged.

"Let them take the ship, we'll blow it up soon."

"I meant the ones fighting the Elites and Covenant," Graham reworded his concern coldly. Eden smiled satanically.

"I'd give them medals if I thought they wouldn't eat them. They're doing an awfully good job on the Covenant aren't they?"

The Captain shook his head in disbelief.

"Admiral, people are dying out there. They may be alien, but they're sentient. Unlock the fleet, now." He attempted to reason with the crazed Eden.

"I'm afraid I can't do that friend. Not yet anyway. Not until the Elites and Covenant are destroyed. Just work with me now. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky! I might stumble for a second. Then it'll be your moment. But until then, it's mine."

Graham sighed, but decided that as conceited as he was, Eden was right. He began preparing the lifeboat alongside the Admiral, taking provisions from the racks on the wall, and throwing them in the pod.

The screams outside were getting louder, as the Flood drew closer. They knew what their target was. The command console of the Galapagos. Graham's heart constricted as if a hand had tightened its fist upon it; those shrieks were unnatural. Did the infected Flood's host still live whilst the infection form controlled the body? Trapped inside its mind, unable to do anything but watched as its body committed atrocities? The Captain shuddered.

"I take it you won't give me a gun," Graham said to Eden. It wasn't a question, rather a state of fact.

"Of course I won't. If you want to live, stay behind me. Help me activate this mech unit Captain," the Admiral instructed, pointing to a dormant mechanical humanoid resting in its storage pod. The being was controlled by a dumb Artificial Intelligence -- it could fight, but not as efficiently as a human could. Neither was it particularly mobile either.

Still, it would have to do. Graham unsealed the storage pod, keying in the code which would activate the mech unit. He stole a glance at Eden. Could he possibly program the robotic fighter to target the Admiral?

"Don't bother Captain, I know what you're thinking," Eden shouted over without even bothering to turn around. "That machine is completely under my control, and its gun won't work in human hands. Just set it up near the door."

Crestfallen, the Captain nodded, lifting up the mech and placing it in a position of light cover, behind a small crate. It flexed its robotic arms, the light on its lens coming to life.

"Done," he called over to Eden, who nodded, before pointing a gun at Graham's face.

"Good. Now, get in the pod. We're leaving in a few seconds."

"Where are we going?"

"The surface. I can watch the battle from cameras I installed in the UNSC ships. Once I know the aliens are dead, I'll activate the human ships, who'll wipe out the parasitic bastards," Eden explained, matter-of-factly.

"I detect a slight flaw in your plan Eden," Graham replied.

"Oh?"

"What if we can't beat the Flood on our own?"

A look of uncertainty flashed across Eden's confident face for a second, before being replaced by a smug look.

"Don't be ridiculous Captain. We're more than a match for those mindless animals. The Master Chief's due to destroy the Gravemind soon anyway, which will make them pushovers for the fleet."

Graham decided not to fight a lost cause -- Eden was totally and utterly convinced that the UNSC could beat the Flood on their own. Graham was not so confident.

He began to move towards the pod, when suddenly he heard a noise. A loud bang on the roof. Eden's eyes widened.

"The Flood are on the hull!" he exclaimed silently, looking towards the ceiling.

Eden seemed distracted. It was now or never. He slowly crept up behind the absent Admiral, preparing to strangle the *** from behind. Suddenly, Eden whirled around with lightning quick instincts and shot Graham in the foot, who collapsed instantly in agony.

"Not your moment Captain," Eden said calmly, before raising his gun again, pointing it with determination at Graham's heart. "I see you're going to be too much trouble to live in the new galaxy. Goodbye, Captain."

There was further rustling from above the hull, and it sounded as if someone had entered through the airlock. Footsteps echoed across the ceiling.

Eden's finger pulled lightly down on the trigger, and Graham saw the world grow slowly. This was it. The end. The Admiral had won.

A shot was fired.

* * * * * * *

Sangheilios surface, outside the Citadel of Vadam.

"Release the Sharquoi!" Daedalus boomed grandiosely, grinning openly. He looked at the gigantic energy cage behind him; twenty feet tall with a fifteen feet creature trapped inside.

The Flood opposing his forces were hanging back, observing the gargantuan beast inside the cage nervously. The Sharquoi race were a strange thing. Discovered long ago by the Covenant on a long abandoned Forerunner world, the dangerous monsters had apparently been created by the ancient race as a means to fight the Flood. Judging by the apprehensive look on the Parasites' collective faces, it seemed that they remembered them well.

It towered over even Daedalus, who was considered a giant amongst many. Its long teeth, littering the inside of the Sharquoi's jaw were each the size of an Jackal's arm, just twice as wide. Their elongated eyes were tapered and full to the brim with murderous intent, blood shot and large. Spines littered the back of their matt grey coats, tapered and long. Its muscular stomach was protected with a heavy coat of scales, each strong enough to resist the strike of a plasma blade. Their powerful legs bent at the knees, before ending with two powerful, clawed feet.

And most incredibly, they could breathe super heated plasma. None in the Covenant were exactly sure how, but apparently they naturally produced chemicals in a unique organ which could create a superheated flame of plasma without scalding the leather insides of the Sharquoi.

And yet for all this, they still possessed an elegance about them which was so like the Forerunners. The perfect weapon to fight the Flood.

The only two problems were that they were incredibly stupid, and few in number. This one was the last of its kind. The rest of the Sharquoi had been wiped out along with High Charity.

The caged Sharquoi would no doubt be pleased to fight the foe it had been designed to fight. And if it fell fighting, then it would die happy.

No less than seven Engineers lifted the door of the cage, wrapping their tendrils around the plasma bars without suffering so much as a small singe. The pulsed in harmony, and a few seconds later the cage's door vanished, unleashing the raging Sharquoi upon the world. It darted out onto the plain, sniffing the air. Immediately, the terrified Flood soldiers opened fire upon it, yet both bullets and plasma burns bounced off its tough hide.

The Sharquoi's eyes affixed upon the Parasite army attacking it, and narrowed. It bellowed out a murderous cry, spewing plasma into the air, incinerating the floating Flood spores occupying the space. The Flood soldiers faltered slightly, inadvertently taking a step back.

Strange that these Flood feel fear. Perhaps it came with their evolution, Daedalus mused, stroking his great white beard thoughtfully as the Sharquoi lumbered towards the crowd of parasitic enemies, scattering them with its huge limbs and barbed tail. Many fell to its attack.

"Wondrous is it not? I pity any fool who has to fight a Sharquoi," the Chieftain of the Brutes boasted to the human Colonel standing next to him, who was looking at the decimating Sharquoi with a kind of melancholia.

"I led a platoon once in the war with the Covenant. Over one hundred men and women, most of them with families back home. All of them elite soldiers, the best of the best. One of those creatures ambushed us. Only three of us survived its attack. We managed to finally kill it by rolling a boulder on it, and even then it still thrashed around for ten minutes," Colonel Miles stated emptily, staring out with horror at the Sharquoi. Daedalus swore inwardly, and grimaced.

"My apologies Colonel, I should have realised. Fear not, this one fights for our cause."

Miles shook his head darkly, eyes burning a hole into the Chieftain's mind. He turned away.

"Does it really? To me it looks like it has no choice; as if it's a slave. I'm going to organise my soldiers. You just keep your Dragon away from us Brute," the Colonel muttered, stalking away. Daedalus stared after him, blinking.

What's a Dragon?

* * * * * *

Codename: SURGEON heard footsteps descending down the stairs, and rose out of his chair with both excitement and dread. Cole had obviously finished mulling his plea over. What would his reply be?

The man who walked into the living room, straight backed and confident nearly made Surgeon's jaw drop.

Was that really the man who had just minutes before stood pathetically in his bathrobe and slippers, with a beard and smell that looked like they hadn't be attended to in weeks?

Admiral Cole was dressed in finely pressed Admiralty uniform, an impossibly long row of medals pinned along his chest. His belt buckle shined, every button on his shirt gleamed. The grey uniform he wore seemed like new, and fit around his figure as if he had been born wearing it. Affixed to his short, trimmed grey hair was a cap, which hadn't lost its shape at all. Even his boots had been polished.

His previously long and shaggy beard had been trimmed to a short stubble, neat and tidy. His eyes were no longer sunken and depressed, but were instead sharp and possessed an air of command about them. His previously long, dirty fingernails had been rounded down to small, neat tips.

"Admiral Cole sir!" the ONI Investigator had a sudden urge to salute, and quickly snapped to attention, looking with awe at the man before him who looked every part the legend. The Flood were doomed.

"At ease." Even Cole's voice now had a commanding tone to it. "I've decided to accept your offer Surgeon. When do we leave for Sangheilios?"

"Immediately sir! I brought with me one of the fastest slipspace traversing vessels available. If we leave now, we should arrive at the planet in less than a day," Surgeon replied, still unable to take his eyes off Cole, who nodded curtly.

"Then lead on Surgeon. We've got a war to win."

---

"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.

i bet mendez just killed eden.

---

Operation Waypoint hijack is in effect!

SPECTER6690:i bet mendez just killed eden.

I bet it was obvious.

I also bet that we just made Wolver rewrite the next chapter so Eden shot Graham. 

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Whenever a thread was hijacked and there were big quote boxes and lots of flame, I was there!

Rank:Master Hijacker

GT: I DFang I

http://averagejoesgames.com

DFang:

SPECTER6690:i bet mendez just killed eden.

I bet it was obvious.

I also bet that we just made Wolver rewrite the next chapter so Eden shot Graham. 

 

SON OF A DASJHNDKFHNJASKL:FJAS

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Operation Waypoint hijack is in effect!

It's like a freaking soap opera. Who shot who?! *Insert dramatic organ music* Was it Darrel?! The innocent laundromat boy!? Was it William Ballbuster?! The butcher shop assistant?! Find out in next weeks episode of, "Generic, unrealistic incident show!!!!!"

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SPQR! An ambitious historical project, coming soon. Check the Library for early version test writes. Recommended for anyone with a love of history.

Beautiful. The line Mendez said reminded me of Mass Effect 2 when Garrus said "The collector's killed you once and the only pissed you off" 

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Design a Faction

http://www.halowars.com/forums/thread/795978.aspx

Offensive Bias:It's like a freaking soap opera. Who shot who?! *Insert dramatic organ music* Was it Darrel?! The innocent laundromat boy!? Was it William Ballbuster?! The butcher shop assistant?! Find out in next weeks episode of, "Generic, unrealistic incident show!!!!!"

This type of science fiction is called a Space Opera; it's not a small, contained story -- it's a huge, sweeping epic with many factions, sub-plots and a greater danger. You obviously haven't read the full thing, and just skimmed through Chapter 42. Don't bother leaving feedback because of that.

Everything in science fiction is unrealistic. That's why it's so wondrous.

---

"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.

alright Wolver....

...i'll buckle down and get to readin'!

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

i'm up to chapter 20!

i won't let you down!

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Footbutt:

i'm up to chapter 20!

i won't let you down!

I'm up to chapter... uhm forty-two at the moment.

---

"Why do we always have to listen to this old stuff, Sarge?" - Private Mendoza, upon listening to flip music.

"Wow, this is loco! I'm outta' of here!" - When fighting the Flood Infection Forms.

When you gonna write again?

It's almost been a month.

---

"Why do we always have to listen to this old stuff, Sarge?" - Private Mendoza, upon listening to flip music.

"Wow, this is loco! I'm outta' of here!" - When fighting the Flood Infection Forms.

That's an overstatement; it's been less than two weeks.

 I'm busy with exam revision and coursework for my GCSEs, so I don't have much free time to write. I've also been going out a lot more since the weather is better.

So sorry, it could be a while. 

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"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.