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Chapter Text

The new team member certainly looks the part, decked out in full Spartan III armour as he stands in the dispatch pod’s doorway. It's a dark charcoal grey, a little too close to the previous Six for the rest of the team’s comfort, but the resemblance ends there.

Where Thom was adrenalin filled movement, and ready to lounge across any available surface, this new one holds himself still and contained. Rifle cradled across one arm and body quelled of any extraneous motion.

“So you’re the new number Six.” Carter says, and means it. The rest of the team is pulling to their feet, Emile putting his knife back into its holster as they head out towards the quad, each passing an assessing gaze over the newcomer. There's no time to linger, they have their orders – the downed relay at Visegrad waiting for them.

“Commander, Sir.” The grey spartan steps forward as the others move out, helmet shifting slightly as he speaks.

“I’m Carter, Noble Team’s leader,” Carter nods beyond them, “Thats Kat – Noble 2, Emile and Jorge are Four and Five.”

The grey Spartan nods, and stays silent. Carter sighs. “Right, you’ll be riding with me, Six. Head out.”

They do, towards the falcon parked on the dirt covered landing bay, each corner marked by a reflector pellet. Carter slides his helmet up and over his head, watching the visor Hud blink to life, the markers flaring and then being stabilised. He waves to the pilot as they board the back of the falcon, then stares a little longer as Six climbs into his seat.

The spartan barely shifts when Jun climbs aboard next to him. He still has that motionless, pulled-back posture, but its not stiff, just… contained. Taking up his small allotment of space, and nothing else. It reminds Carter of a predatory animal, like one of the canid creatures that inhabited Reach’s upper elevations. Smooth fur and veiled teeth.

“I’ve seen your file, even the parts ONI didn’t want getting out. I’m glad to have your skill-set,” Carter offers, “But just one thing. That lone-wolf stuff stays behind. We’re a team, and I expect you to act like it. Clear?”

“Got it, sir.” Six leans forward just slightly, head tilting, voice steady in his helmet’s receiver.

Above them the Falcon’s rotors whir up another notch, dust kicking up as they lift into the sky.

***

Carter sees the Elite Zealot disengage cover across the room right as they’re about to wrap up, energy sword flaring to life in a spark of super-white danger. Jorge, right next to the alien, doesn’t even take a moment to swear as he grabs the civilian and turns them both away, ducking down as the sword sweeps over their heads. Two more of the red-armoured Zealots drop in behind the first, and the leader jumps forward, ignoring Jorge and heading straight for Carter and Kat.

Neither of them have their weapons out, Kat busy with the screens and Carter having put his away when he’d checked on the injured trooper – the only other survivor they’d found in the research centre.

He shoves Kat out of the way as the energy sword crackles and flares, thrust into the space they’d just left. His hand grabs at his holster, but rifle-fire sounds sharp and rapid before he can draw the weapon. Bullets crack against the Elite’s shields, the blue glow rippling as the creature turns towards the fire.

Six is there, standing mere feet away in the narrow corridor, the only member of Noble Team who's weapon is in his hands. His arms are steady, gun firing in precise bursts against the Zealot’s chest and head. The Zealot roars, ignoring Kat and Carter, and leaps forward, closing the gaps between it and Six in less than a second.

Six is bowled into the wall, weapon flying and skidding across the concrete floor. Carter hears the sharp punch of breath in his earpiece as the grey spartan hits the floor with all the force a nine-foot tall alien asshole can inflict. The sound of reinforced armour plating cracking against concrete is loud and for a second Carter sees Thom, heading off towards the death they hadn’t seen coming, armour blood stained.

Fortunately the Elite doesn’t take the opportunity to drive its energy sword through Six’s momentarily unprotected chest, instead sprinting off down the hallway towards the exit.

The second Elite is not so merciful. While Jorge has been firing shots at the third, this one has broken away, a second later looming over Six, armoured hand grabbing the Spartan’s collar and bright sword plunging down.

Carter does swear, he’s got his weapon in his hand now but there’s no way he’s getting through this Zealot’s shields in time to inflict real damage – but Six twists, more mobile than Spartan armour normally allows, his body curling sideways so that the sword barely nicks through the flex-kev that stretches over his torso.

Six is already fighting back, punches across the Elite’s toothy four-jawed mouth and doesn’t flinch when the creature roars into his visor, raising its sword again.

Carter’s boot hits its side, knocking it off Six. He fires, shots bursting in rapid succession driving the alien back as it scrambles up and out the doorway Noble Team had first entered through. The last elite is there, giving covering plasma fire that burns itself out against Carter’s own shields, eating the charge. At his side Six gets his arms under himself, and Carter toes the man’s weapon back to him. Sparing a glance as the other rises, gun steady.

The civilian is screaming, the injured trooper too – as he’s dragged up by the Elite, held as a flesh shield as the two aliens escape.

Six is standing, if he’s at all shaken by his near death experience, he doesn’t show it. Good.

Emile’s voice crackles suddenly through the radio from where he’d been posted outside the facility, “That Tango blew right past me. Permission to pursue.” He sounds riled up.

“Negative Four, stay on the entrance.” They need to get this area secure. Complete the mission. “Two,” he turns his head slightly towards Kat, weapon still aimed at the doorway, “Handle the civ. Five and Six… clear the hole.” He points towards the still open doors, steps back towards their primary objective as Jorge and Six move forwards. Ready to clear them a path out of here.

The grey Spartan moves easily, fluidly – taking point with his gun held ahead of him as he ducks past Jorge’s massive form and into the breach.

Carter thinks of the sharp lines of black ink the ONI censors had put on his file, and what had lain beneath them.

Chapter Text

The flatlands spread out distantly below them as Jun steps quietly along the narrow cliffside ledge, just wide enough for a single man. Reach’s moon lights the path in soft silver and deep shadow, and Jun melts into the darkness as a Phantom glides by overhead.

Behind him Six follows silently, the occasional barely audible scrape of armour on stone or soft breath through the comm the only sign of his presence as he keeps pace, creeping along the cliffside, sniper rifle held comfortably in both hands.

The new guy is certainly a man of few words, even more so than Jun himself. He’s quiet, had barely spoken a word on the copter that had dropped them off, and even as he’d readied his gear his movements had been short and quick, efficient.

He seems to have slotted into place amongst the team well enough for the moment, though he has a tendency to fade into the background half the time. He’d at least held his own at Visegrad and ONI Sword Base, though now Jun guesses he’ll have a chance to verify that for himself. He hasn’t seen the file, but he’s heard Carter and Kat talking. It sounded like Mr Lone Wolf had his own experiences in covert ops.

Up ahead the ledge narrows then twists, bringing them out above the rocky mountainside, and the twisting pathways that cluster through it.

The first small settlement should be just up ahead.

He clicks on his comm as he watches another Phantom in the distance, “Recon team Bravo, reporting in: Three and Six in position,” he keeps his voice hushed in the cold night air as he keeps eyes on the Covenant airship, “Starting to get a little crowded up here, Kat.”

“Then you’re closing in,” Kat’s voice hums through the radio, “Report any Covenant structures or devices.” She pauses, then adds, “Direct action may be necessary.”

“Copy that.” Jun says, Direct action is usually necessary when Kat’s involved. Six comes up beside him, a tiny shift of his shoulders as he follows Jun’s gaze out across the horizon, and then down the rock-strewn pathways and flat elevations just below them. Jun transfers back to the short range comm, and now that they’re in position pulls a spare clip from one of his chest straps.

“Here,” he says, passing it back over his shoulder, “You may need these."

Six takes the clip easily, tucking it into his own strap with a nod of thanks. Jun watches the movement, then adds “High velocity, armour piercing. They’ll take the hat off an Elite at two thousand yards,” he knows there’s a slight air of satisfaction in his voice when he says that, “Aint cheap though, so make ‘em count.”

“Got it.” Comes the quiet answer, Six’s voice humming softly through the comm.

The ledge narrows on the other side of a spindly tree, then raises suddenly – high ground of a type the sniper is well acquainted with. Time to split up.

He glances back towards where Six lingers, and gestures down the hillside, head tilted until the Grey Spartan shifts his shoulder in acknowledgement.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jun says through the comm as he turns, and climbs up the next section of cliffside. Behind him Six steps neatly off the edge, sliding down the smooth stone till he hits the lower elevation. He falls immediately into a ready stance, centre of gravity dropped just slightly and weapon held steady as he moves forwards.

Jun stays high, soft warnings and directions over the comm as he watches his mission partner push forward below. Six’s movements are quick and quiet, a grey shape blending amongst the rocks and dirt in the darkness. He takes out a couple of Covenant, combat knife a momentary moon-lit glint in his hand.

They reconvene a little further on, Jun’s ledge petering out into nothingness as it joins with a small curving slope. The cluster of buildings just beyond is riddled with Covenant, a couple of grunts huddled in sleep, and at least one Elite standing on the overlooking balcony, ever-watchful.

Jun scans them through the scope of his rifle as he reports back in to Kat, “This what we’re looking for?” he asks.

“Negative, too small. You’re not in the dark-zone yet. Engage at your own discretion Jun, but keep moving.”

Right, they're unlikely to sneak straight past, so Jun looks sideways to Six, crouched a few feet away. Time to see what he can do.

“You heard her, Six,” he tilts his head towards the cluster of buildings, towards the targets. “Drop those Tangos.”

Six straightens with a nod, and with a smooth movement slides his rifle into position on his back. A moment later he's disappearing back into the shadows, dropping down the side of the hill.

Jun lowers himself to the dirt, shiftings forwards right to edge of the hill and pulling his scope back into position. It takes him a moment before he catches the moving shadow. The charcoal colour of Six’s armour blends almost too well into the night-time landscape, fuzzing at the edges in a way pure black never would.

He’s a ghost, creeping along the edge of one building, then sliding up onto a balcony. There’s an easy confidence to his motion, but he stays low, covers open ground quickly and lingers in shadows. Again, Jun finds himself wondering just what this guy’s assignment had been before Noble Team.

Six drops the Elite on lookout, disappears into one of the buildings then appears on the other side behind a couple of Jackals. Once they’re downed he shifts around the side of the building and up the half-hidden exterior stairs to its rooftop where he drops down onto the metal sheeting. He turns, gaze searching along the hillside until he lands on Jun,  visor catching just the edge of moonlight-glow. He lifts his hand in a two finger point, and then he’s pulling the sniper rifle from his back and peering down the scope.

Jun moves his own aim away, finding a target so when the first shot echoes loudly through the still air his own follows closely. The elite under his reticule going down. Another gunshot echoes, then another.

Jun picks his targets off carefully, then rolls to his feet, changing position as the enemy starts to catch wind of him. He aims again, shoots again as a Phantom drops in reinforcements. When they’re finally forced to break cover the firefight is short, Six and Jun attacking from opposite sides of the compound, a pincer movement trapping their enemies between them.

They make their way through the covenant outposts like that, Six pushing first, taking a few out silently, and then opening fire once close quarters fighting breaks out. Jun watching his back through the scope of his rifle.

He makes a good teammate. Not impatient like Emile, more suited to this than Jorge and quicker on his feet. He’s… easy, and Jun sees some of what the other’s had mentioned after Sword Base. The way Six just slips into place where he’s needed, follows Jun’s directions for all that he technically has a higher rank. The Covenant outposts are cleared quickly.

They find the source of the dark zone, and just beyond it…

Six lowers himself to the dirt and rocks, crawling forwards on his stomach to the cliff's edge. Jun drops down behind him, follows until he too can see out across the night covered plains.

“Jackpot.” He whispers. The alien glow of a mass amount of Covenant forces spreads out before them in the distance. A few of those signal blocking shield domes arcing out above.

“Transmitting visual.” Six says, voice doubled – close by Jun’s head and a quiet, steady echo in his comm.

“You getting this Kat?” Jun asks into his own receiver.

There’s a tiny delay, and then Kat responds, “Confirmed. Receiving Noble Three and Noble Six – live visual of a covenant strike force.”

“That’s no strike force, thats an invading army,” Jun says. At his side Six shifts, turning towards him, visor glinting in reflected purple as Jun continues, “If we’re gonna smother this thing we need to go in hard and fast.”

“Agreed,” Kat says, “All recon teams fall back. Sun will be up in a few hours… and its going to be a very busy day.”

Chapter Text

Kat grips the gearstick in one hand, the other forcing the wheel around as the explosion hits directly ahead of them. All around the engine-roar of over thirty battle-ready warthog class vehicles nearly drowns out the distant gunfire and plasma shot. It doesn’t override the second explosion though, the bridge ahead blown apart like it had been made of paper, and the hog right in front of them thrown into the air alongside slabs of concrete and metal. Marines screaming as it smashes down again in front of them.

“Might want to hold on to something!” She yells, trusting their helmet mics to carry the noise as Six grips the overhead grab-bar beside her. The Warthog in front barely clips them as she revs the engine, shifting up gears and slamming her foot flat on the floor.

They shoot forwards towards the gap in the road, where twisting steel has forced concrete into a tiny ramp. They hit it, suspension screaming as the Hog jerks beneath them, something snapping. Six’s grip tightens on the bar, body shoved forwards in the seat.

Then they’re shooting out over the air, over the deadly drop below where the bridge had once covered. They hit the other side badly, bull-bar first. The windscreen smashes, spraying shards of glass across their visors, tires spinning as all three tonnes of vehicle crashes against the concrete.

Six hits the dashboard hard, then is thrown back against the seat as momentum carries them forwards, rolling the hog in a screaming crashing cacophony of metal and glass.

Kat’s grip on the seat beneath her slips, and on the next roll she lets go, throwing herself sideways from the vehicle. Head down as it crashes forwards, relentless. She lies motionless for a second, then wriggles her toes. Arms and legs – well, one arm – all accounted for. She certainly wouldn’t like testing even the spartan armour against being crushed by a warthog.

She jumps to her feet, weapon out. There’s covenant up ahead, just over the rise, the sound of gunfire loud and popping where the vehicles ahead of them had made it across. Their Warthog has fetched up on its side, a moment of cover she’s just about to hurry towards when she realises she can’t see Six.

“Damn it!” Her hand tightens on her magnum as she casts a fierce glance around her. There! Her Hud lights up with an ally marker – a spartan sprawled out on the road by the bridge. He must have been thrown free just after they’d hit. He’s not moving, even when another hog tries to jump the gap behind them, hitting the jutting concrete and falling into the canyon, concrete cracking and splitting. Dropping down with them as their screams fade.

Crap. He doesn’t look crushed, armour all still in one piece. No obvious blood. She hopes he’s not dead, they need every spartan they can get, everyone they can get if Reach has a chance of surviving.

She runs towards him, weapon held ready.

“Six!” She’s only a few steps away when he finally moves, hand scraping against the rough concrete as he groans.

“Six. Can you hear me?”

His visor lifts towards her, and he pushes himself up onto one arm, almost slow. Concussion?

“Six. Are you alright?” She glances over her shoulder, at where the battle’s front line is growing closer. Six seems to shake himself, lurching to his feet, but he’s much steadier a second later when he reaches for his gun.

She stifles her sigh of relief. “I could use some help,” she calls instead, watching for a moment longer as he pulls himself into battle posture.

“On my way.” He says, voice clear across the comm, falling into position behind her as she leads them both up the hill.

***

By unspoken agreement, Six drives the new warthog that's unloaded from the support Pelican as they make their way through the straggling front line to take out the Covenant anti-air guns, clearing the way ahead for the UNSC airborne artillery.

When they come upon an abandoned mining facility, Kat watches as Six takes on a high value target on the structure overhead. A red armoured Elite Zealot wielding a concussion rifle, the explosive bursts of plasma putting their shields into the red with a single hit. She pounds up the shaking steel steps of the framework, too far back to offer any real support.

Six ducks and rolls beneath the blasts, then leaps up, the Covenant needle rifle he’d picked up somewhere firing rapid shots. When they bunch together they explode, jerking the Elite’s shoulder back. The alien roars, shields flickering, and Six closes the gap, firing again and again until the creature is dropped.

“High value target has been neutralised,” Kat says with satisfaction into the radio as she finally makes it close, stepping up alongside Six.

She claps him on the shoulder, and he offers her a nod, visor tilting as he catches his breath.

Chapter Text

The falcon slips through the covenant barrier, and Jorge knows what’s happened immediately. The engine noise cuts out, the rotors overhead whining as they start to slow.

“We’ve just lost all power!” The pilot yells from the cockpit, the short range of their helmet radios the only thing holding up. The bird drops, slowly at first. The metal framework shudders as it clips the edge of a rocky outcropping, then they’re losing control, spinning out.

Jorge’s hand grips tight to the siding behind him as the Falcon shakes, gravity a sudden force pulling at them, trying to rip them out of the open side panels.

Across from him Six is jamming himself into the seat, one hand on the bench below him, the other mirroring Jorge on the side panel.

“Lock your armour!” Jorge shouts, Six’s head turns to him, and then the ground is way too close. Jorge initiate’s his armour lock right as they hit, dirt and grass flying up into the cabin. They skid for almost a quarter of a second across ground, then the Falcon tips, metal screaming and breaking apart. Nothing as elegant as a roll, they’re pulled into a whirling, spinning crash against the rocks.

Jorge is locked into place by his armour, wedged onto the seat as metal cracks above his head. The last thing he sees is Noble Six thrown across the cabin, shoulder hitting the wall by Jorge’s side hard enough to dent it before he’s disappearing, metal shards crunching as he’s thrown from the spinning copter.

The silence is almost as deafening as the noise. The sudden, forceful stillness as jarring as the spinning. Jorge’s armour lock un-freezes, and he shoves the broken piece of metal siding off himself. His gatling is where he’d left it, jammed into place in the corner and fortunately undamaged. The same can’t be said for the Falcon… or its pilot. The entire cockpit is crushed, and his visor HUD picks up no signs of life. He spares a thought for the poor man, a prayer for his sacrifice. But he’s got no time to linger here, Six had been thrown hard, hadn’t activated his armour lock, or maybe he’d swapped the upgrade out for another. He could be hurt badly, or even now the covenant inside the barrier shield could be closing in on them, ready to put some plasma into an injured spartan’s skull. With a heave and a grunt, Jorge pushes himself up and out of the Falcon’s remains.

Six is standing, if slightly unsteadily, by the rocks and Jorge breathes a sigh of relief.

“You’re ok, Spartan?” He asks, hauling his gatling up over his shoulder.

Noble Six nods, standing straighter and lifting his gun.

That’s all the answer Jorge expects. Actually, he might have been more worried if Six had offered more than a sentence or two in response. The other didn’t talk all that much, not about himself, not about their missions, or the covenant. For anyone else Jorge'd be worried the new guy was feeling uncertain, not sure where he fit in to the squad. But Six’s silence was different, comfortable.

Despite his lone-wolf persona he fit them well. Always soft spoken, quick to follow orders, sharp on the battlefield. Ready to watch anyone else’s back, though he seemed to forget sometimes the other’s would reciprocate the same.

Jorge looks up towards the Covenant tower, hears the distant sound of alien chittering and clinking on rocks. “Crew’s dead. We shouldn’t stay here.”

Six readies himself, and follows as Jorge leads the way.

***

They take down the teleportation tower, and with it the Covenant super-carrier’s cloaking device. The ship stretches across nearly the entire sky, its mega-hull shining in the sky as its ion beam tears through the UNSC Frigate Grafton as though swatting a fly.

Twelve hours later the sabre jet shoots into the sky. Six’s hands steady on the controls as he and Jorge break through Reach’s atmosphere and into orbit.

***

“So it’s going to be like that then,” Jorge says, mostly to himself. The pelican is bent metal above him, resting inside the Covenant ship’s hanger bay. The wide forcefield shielded opening shows Reach in all her glory, blue and orange and so, so green. Massive. Home.

He looks behind him, to Six standing lonely in the middle of the carrier bay, waiting quietly. His gun is down by his side, for a moment relaxed after the onslaught of Covenant they’d spent the last six hours fighting through. Or maybe just exhausted.

Jorge gives a last slap to the edge of the timer box and pivots, Six’s head turning towards the noise, visor looking up at him. The re-entry pack still secure and undamaged on his back.

“Well I’ve got good news and bad news,” Jorge says, walking over to the other Spartan. Six steps up to him, his body language is looser, in his element and relaxed. Maybe he's starting to grow comfortable in the team, find his place amongst them. It makes what Jorge is about to do even harder… but also much, much easier.

“She took some fire, and her thruster’s toast,” Jorge hooks his thumb over his shoulder towards the Pelican, “So the only way off this slag-heap is gravity.”

“And the good news?” Six’s visor tilts up at him.

“That was the good news.”

Dot sounds in their ears, “At current velocity, fifty-three seconds to endpoint.” Six shifts, but he doesn’t look out the forcefield window, towards where the massive Covenant super-carrier is slowly growing larger against the midnight black of space.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jorge answers the AI construct, pulling off his helmet. Even recycled and tasteless, the ship’s air feels good on his sweaty skin. If he closes his eyes he might even be able to imagine the wind in the fields, fresh with the promise of spring or the tang of ocean salt.

His helmet clanks on the floor, and Six follows it with his gaze.

“Bad news is the timer’s fried. I’m gonna have to fire it manually.”

Six isn’t slow, he picks up on that one immediately, “That’s a one-way trip.” It’s the most emotion Jorge has ever head from him, other than professional agreeability. There’s a strain to his voice, a sudden rawness creeping through as he steps closer.

“We all make it sooner or later,” Jorge tries to lighten the mood, “Better get going Six, they’re gonna need you down there.”

Six starts to shake his head, but Jorge cuts him off again, “Listen,” he reaches up, snaps his dog tags free of his neck, the engraved metal plates small in his fist, “Reach has been good to me. Time’s come to return that favour.”

He offers his hand, smiles when Six grasps it without hesitation… then uses his other hand to grip Six’s torso armour and lift the other right off his feet. Jerks him closer until they’re chest to chest, Six’s visor filling his vision. “Don’t deny me this.”

Six doesn’t speak, doesn’t struggle as Jorge walks them forwards towards the forcefield, but his helmet moves as though he wants to. His hand is gripping Jorge’s tight enough to creak bones. They’ve all lost people in the field before, Six’ll be alright.

The forcefield glimmers blue energy, and Jorge hefts Six a final time, doesn’t give him a moment to fight, to argue.

He nods his head down towards Reach, clouds and aether twisting across her beautiful surface, “Tell ‘em to make it count,” he says, and throws Six out of the covenant ship.

Six’s left hand makes a grab for him, but it closes around nothing as he falls, the chain of Jorge’s dog tags a silver glitter trailing from his closed right fist.

His visor stays locked on Jorge until he disappears completely from sight, caught in the gravitational field, plummeting back towards their planet.

The Covenant corvette docks with the super carrier, rising up into the enormous war-ship. Twenty-five seconds later, Jorge detonates the slip-space drive.

Chapter Text

Lieutenant A. Martinez wipes the sweat off her brow and looks down the barrel of her assault rifle, firing round after round into the big, hulking alien that’s advancing up along the sky plaza.

“What are those things?” Screams a voice from her left, panicked shouts from the civilians surround her as Evac Team 7 retreats across the edge plaza, trying to pull together.

“Brutes! Move to cover!” Her commander yells from somewhere to the right. One of the Privates – pulled from another company and who's name she didn’t catch – screams in sudden pain as orange spike-rifle bullets spray across the wall behind them.

“We’re running out of space here!” Martinez yells back, ducking behind the shiny white surface of a planter. She can see a group of civilians huddled just out of reach along the wall, peaks her head up to fire shots into one of the big Brute bastards advancing on them. Her rounds bounce off its sparse armour and embed into its flesh, and it roars… but only seems to speed up.

Crap crap crap, she hastily loads another clip into her rifle, finger fumbling on the cartridge.

“Hang on, we’ve got a friendly!” The commander's shout barely breaks through the noise.

There’s a commotion from behind, and then suddenly a Spartan is dropping from above, leaping forwards into the fray from seemingly nowhere. Spike-rifle needles fly towards him and he ducks, crouching low behind a broken piece of wall, then vaulting it to run steadily forward, body held ready and firing three precise shots off.

The Brute near the cluster of wounded civilians suddenly jerks to the side, head twisting as the creature’s helmet is knocked askew. The next two shots slam into its head and neck, and it goes down.

“A Spartan? Where the hell’d he come from?” Martinez can’t help but shout out, the thrum of adrenalin pumps beneath her sweaty skin – the sting where a few glancing shots had ripped across her arm dulling for a second.

The grey clad Spartan ducks behind another planter, reloads his clip, then leaps out again, enemy fire glancing across his armour, shields flickering.

He’s limping, Martinez realises, and there’s plasma burn all along one side of his armour, scorch marks like those caused by the Covenant’s grenades. She remembers the call out on the radio about those Covenant suicide squads, the crazed grunts running straight at marines with a sparking, fizzing grenade in each hand.

The Spartan makes it partway across the plaza, takes down another two Brutes and a pair of Skirmishers, shots precise and tightly grouped towards weak-points. He rolls beneath another volley of enemy bullets, then jumps to his feet, tossing a frag – long armed – towards the far side where a few Jackals are advancing from a doorway.

Another Brute, green tinted armour covering far more of its muscled body than the others she’d seen, lets out a roar – crashing through the Jackals as the grenade goes off. It pushes forward in that odd, loping run, crossing the plaza in barely a few quick strides.

The Spartan’s weapon cracks sharply against its shoulders as one long arm sweeps him from his feet, the Brute's huge hand gripping around his neck and then slamming him back into the ground. The noise the Spartan’s armour makes as it hits the concrete is as sharp and explosive as the grenade had been, and Martinez tastes blood in her own mouth.

She cries out, shout of warning catching in her throat as the Brute drags the Spartan half a foot, grey armour scraping and crunching against broken concrete. Behind her Evac Seven's commander is firing off shots. Most go wide, but a few do hit the Brute in the side.

It barely seems to flinch as it looms over the grey Spartan, bringing its plasma weapon up to fire. Martinez sees the flare of super-charged ion glow white-hot against the concrete at the Spartan’s waist, just missing as the man lifts his legs, kicking the Brute back and twisting away. At the same time he moves his weapon up into position, braced on his shoulder.

The burst of rifle fire is short and sharp, and the Spartan rolls to the side as the Brute falls, alien blood splattering. The grey Spartan's gets one foot under himself, staggers slightly as he hauls himself back to his feet. The muzzle of his rifle whips across the plaza as he checks down its sights, scanning for more enemies.

When none appear, he drops, all at once – knee and one hand hitting the ground as he leans forward, panting. Weapon cradled against his side.

“Hey! You good?” Martinez shouts across the gap, quickly jumping from cover and running forwards, her own weapon held steady.

“Spartan! You with us?” Her commander is quick to follow, his words only half a question. 

Behind them the rest of Evac Team 7 is gathering the civilians, pulling wounded to their feet and ushering them forwards.

The Spartan nods, and after a moment seems to collect himself, pushing back to his feet. Up close Martinez can more clearly see where plasma has scorched through his shields, the dents and scrapes along his shoulders and down one arm.

There’s a click through her comm, and Martinez’s commander has his hand up to his helmet, “Evac Team Seven to Kilo-Two-Six. We have eyes on Traxus Tower,” he says, eyes now fixed on the doorway ahead where most of their enemy had come from.

“Copy Evac Seven. Move in to assist. The elevator in the atrium goes down to the cargo port and from there its a short trip to the Tower itself.”

“Ready, Spartan?” her Commander asks.

The man’s answer is to lift his weapon and move forwards, taking point towards the doors. The tower’s atrium is full of covenant, and Martinez and the rest of the team move slowly as the battle breaks out again, keeping to cover as the terrified civilians wait at their backs.

The Spartan fights like all Spartans do. With a touch of insanity, a dedication to the objective that over-rides instinct. Martinez watches as he pushes forwards, shield charge flickering under fire is he sprints across the gap to an enemy brute, firing off rounds as he goes. The Covenant goes down, and the Spartan slides quickly into cover, scooping up one of the enemies grenades and activating it, blue flaring as he arcs it across to a cluster of Grunts and Skirmishers.

They make it to the elevator, hold position while it slowly heads towards them. While a covenant Phantom drops off a whole new load of enemy reinforcements.

The grey Spartan fights like he doesn't know how to do anything else. Saves all their lives, then limps off towards his next objective.

Chapter Text

“How close?” Carter says, standing by the large floor to ceiling window. Even as the words leave his mouth the smoke covered sky lights up, horizon to horizon.

Emile moves to stand as Kat yells, “That close!” but the blast hits them first. The windows shatter, glass blowing inwards and whipping through the room on explosive wind. The force knocks everyone standing off their feet, pushes Emile back down as the entire tower shudders.

The wind doesn’t stop, roaring through the gap, pieces of debris flinging past them. Something pings off his visor, dust and metal and smoke screaming past. Everything is tinted orange.

A second shudder has them all staggering, and another Spartan knocks into Emile’s side, stumbling. Emile grabs Six by the arm, fingers locking into gaps between armour plates as he hauls the other up, the ground shifting beneath their feet. He pulls him forwards, trying to shove him ahead towards the lifts.

Six pulls away, slipping out of Emile’s grasp, and through the dust he sees the grey spartan pausing a second, waiting while Kat pulls herself up to her feet. Then they’re all running, Carter and Jun leading the way further inside.

They hit the elevators, and Emile waits to see Six and Two enter the one beside them before he slams his hand on the downwards button. They’re on the opposite face of the building from the explosion, glass still undamaged, so they can see clearly out across the hellscape of New Alexandria. The billowing smoke and unnatural wind.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.” Kat’s voice crackles through their radios, “Our best option is a fall-out bunker on sub-level two, ninety-six meters North-East.”

In the distance, part of a sky scraper sheers away, dropping down into the smoke, crackles of electricity and explosions trailing after it.

Their elevator hits the sub-level first, and they’re running out, past the collapsed ceiling towards the hud marker of the bunker. Glass and metal crunches heavily underfoot, the wind roars, continual overhead.

Behind them the second elevator doors open, Kat and Six running out. Emile turns as he reaches the blast doors.

None of them see the phantom pulling to hover above them.

Kat gets shot.

***

Its dark in the bunker, a heavy, closed in silence as the wind roars above them, the occasional groan of metal or distant boom breaking the constant drone. Its been hours.

The orange glow of the emergency lights cast a burned-out tint across everything. Lighting the UNSC supply crates that lie unopened in one corner. Noble team sits scattered around this half of the bunker, quiet. On the other side civilians whimper and huddle, a few bloodied and bleeding marines crouched alongside them.

None have approached the Spartans.

Kat is laid out on the ground by the door, Carter sitting on a crate at her side, assault rifle in his hand, head bowed as he holds a solitary guard over her body.

Jun is a few feet away, head back against the wall. Emile thinks he’s sleeping. And Six…

Six is perched on another crate a little further along. He sits, one hand clasped on his lap, the other holding his gun. He hasn’t moved for hours, not since he’d dragged Kat inside the blast doors, all the while returning fire towards the covenant phantom with Two’s own magnum. He hasn’t spoken since, and hadn’t responded when Carter had given them their broken de-brief. Hadn’t slept even a moment, though everyone else had caught a second here or there.

There’s plasma fire burns along the shoulder of his armour, scratches and dents down one side. He’d barely showed it when he’d finally re-joined them, but Emile remembered the quiet comment. Up on the Covenant Corvette the Pelican had been wasted, which was why Jorge had stayed behind.

Which meant Six had come back to Reach the direct way, falling unprotected through atmosphere and slamming into the ground with enough force to instantly kill anyone not in Mark V armour. Re-entry packs only did so much.

Then of course he’d fought his way apparently through half of New Alexandria, helping tackle cannons and pushing forward for evac groups before joining Kat’s air-team. He had to be close to collapse.

Its not Emile’s problem. They’ll push forward, all of Noble Team that's left. Six will get up again, like he knows Carter and Jun will. He’ll get up or he’ll get left behind. Emile grunts, and knocks his head back against the wall, quiets as he listens to the overhead drone of the blast.

The muted orange light flickers, casts Six in its outline, hits the edge of his visor, turned down towards his fist. Something booms closer, a long, muffled noise barely passable as anything identifiable. The ground shakes, and whispers and cries break out for a second amongst the civilians before they quiet down again.

Jun, shifts, muttering something and over by Kat Carter looks up, towards the dust flaking down from the ceiling. Six doesn’t react.

With a huff, Emile pushes himself to his feet and moves forward, and before he can change his mind, drops himself down onto the crates by Six’s side.

“We’ll get them back for this, all the Covenant,” he grunts quietly, his own hand reflexively making a hard fist before he releases it, hand falling down onto Six’s shoulder. Unintentionally, his fingertips brush over the scratches and dents there for a second before he drops his hand away.

Six doesn’t respond, but he does tilt his head slightly towards him, visor catching the light once again.

There’s nothing really else to say, so Emile doesn’t bother. Just waits. Six looks back down towards his own hand, and Emile finally sees what’s in his fist, a glint of metal plates, a short length of broken chain.

Six shifts a little, hand lifting towards Emile, fingers opening as he holds up the tags, offering…

“No.” Emile shakes his head, and reaches up, closing Six’s fingers back around the tags. He wraps his hand around the other’s fist, and smacks their joined hands together against his own chest-plate. Holding Six there for a moment. Holding Jorge there too.

“He gave them to you. You should carry them.” He presses the other’s fist close for a second longer, then releases him.

Six’s fingers twitch, tightening, then whatever fight had been pulled stiff beneath him seems to drain. He leans back against the wall, gun clinking gently as he sets it down on the crate. Emile stays where he is, and they sit in silence, listening to the drone of destruction above, eyes across the narrow space of the bunker, across the surviving members of Noble Team.

After a long time there’s a gentle nudge against Emile’s shoulder, Six’s helmet slipping sideways to rest there, shoulders loosened from their stiffness in sleep.

Chapter Text

“She chose you”

Six hesitates, glancing sideways to the rest of Noble Team, and Carter gives him a nod. Only then does he reach out, hands wrapping carefully around both ends of the receptacle.

“Do you have it?” Halsey asks, her face is more serious than Carter has ever seen it before, which is honestly saying a lot. She seems more human now too.

“Yes.” Six acknowledges.

“I need you to say the words.” Halsey doesn’t let go, not yet.

“I have it,” and Carter can see the set of Six’s posture change, the commitment. He recognises it, has seen it grow across their shared missions.

Halsey nods, once, sharply, and releases the receptacle, the blue glow of energy held within casts a light on both her and Six and they both look down at the glass capsule.

“Good. Then you will deliver humanity's future, Noble Six,” she nods to the rest of them, “Noble Team.”

She steps back, and as she does a distant thud echoes from outside the facility, another piece of the ice roof breaking away.

“We need to get you out of here,” Carter says, “Now.”

“Yes.” Halsey takes a breath, one last glance around the room, “This way.”

They head back out through the tunnels behind the research base, leading to a narrow launchpad hidden on the cliff-face. Two Pelicans sit there, ready and waiting.

Carter sends Jun with Halsey, with orders he knows the sniper will carry out if it becomes necessary. Then he takes the other Pelican, Emile and Six in the back and heads to the ship breaking yards in Aszod.

***

“Noble Leader, seek immediate medical attention.” Dot’s voice sounds in his ears, gently emotionless, “Noble Leader, please respond.”

Carter releases the pressure-catch on his helmet and drops it to the ground. Over his shoulder Six staggers as the Pelican shudders under fire, bolts of plasma bouncing off the interior. Carter spits blood, coughs past the catch of it in his throat, and looks sideways as Six’s hand lands on the back of the seat.

Carter’s fingers are tight on the controls as the Pelican shudders again, Six bumping against the wall before righting himself. Behind them Emile braces himself against the Pelican’s rear opening and fires off the EMP grenade launcher. One of the Banshees jerks sideways, blue electricity crackling across its surface as it crashes into the one beside it.

“Not sure how long she’s gonna stay together,” Carter says over Dot’s warning voice. There’s blood on the Pelican’s windshield. Blood on Carter’s face and down his chest plate. He wipes his hand over the radio display, clearing the green lines that shape the landscape ahead.

“Skies are jammed up anyway,” he continues, “Gotta get you off her, Lieutenant.”

Six’s visor jerks towards him, “Sir, you–“

“Don’t wanna hear it.” Carter cuts him off, “Get the package to the Autumn. Get it off this rock.”

Six doesn’t hesitate, but his hand tightens on the back of the pilot’s seat. “Done.” His voice is quiet.

Carter coughs, tastes iron and swings his head around to look back out past Six.

“Not yet its not,” he says, then calls out, “Emile! Go with him, its a ground game now.” At the back of the Pelican Emile drops his grenade launcher, and smacks a hand against his chest in salute. A Phantom is visible at his back, gliding above the rocky canyon-strewn ground, more banshees sliding up alongside them

“Its been an honour sir!” Emile shouts above the noise of the Pelican.

“Likewise!” Carter says, then turns back to the controls, glances sideways at Six. “I’ll do what I can to draw their fire.”

Six pauses, then nods, hand slipping free from its grip as he steps back towards Emile.

“Six!” Carter calls him back, one last time. Six hesitates mid step, looking back at him. Carter keeps his eyes on the path ahead, but he sees Six in his mind. Standing straight and careful, dedicated. Smart and brave. “That AI chose you. She made the right choice.”

Six lingers for a moment on the words, then ducks his head in acceptance. Then his helmet lifts and he moves down the Pelican, taking up position on its step.

Alright. “On my Mark.” Carter lifts a hand.

He takes one last look back over his shoulder. Six crouching on the edge of the metal drop-plate, the package held carefully in his hands. Just behind him Emile stands, one hand braced on the roof above him, the other out ready.

He’s looking down at Six, covering his back. Carter feels that last string of doubt dissipate from his stomach.

They’ll get this done. Six has the package, and Emile will have Six.

Chapter Text

Med-gel, deployed. the voice whispers in Emile’s ears as he lays slumped against the railing. His breath has long since stopped coming in gurgling rasps, now it's muted, shallow and almost gone. The suit has done what it can, but even a Spartan in full Mjolnir V can’t walk away from an energy sword through the chest.

Analgesics have been delivered, which has at least numbed the pain. He blinks slowly, eyes half closed, unable to do anything more than hold on for these last few minutes, seconds… whatever he has left.

There’s a distant sound of gunfire, warping from behind the MAC gun, echoing strangely in his ears. A blurry grey shape runs towards him, resolves into a figure, a familiar spartan.

Six.

He stands over Emile, then drops down onto one knee at his side. A hand hovers for a second above Emile’s chest, and he can see the moment when Six’s shoulders slump. His hand falls away by his side, and he stands… slowly.

Emile can’t even muster the energy to breath more than the shallow brush of air into his near static lungs, let alone open his mouth. He’s too tired to think of any words to say, anyway.

Six looks away, somewhere to the left into the sky, and then he’s gathering himself, holstering his rifle and climbing up the ladder into the MAC gun’s seat.

The booming sound of the Onager’s cannon fire starts up a moment later. The hum and then the explosion of Covenant Phantoms. The ground shudders with each fire, and it goes on, and on.

Distantly, Emile hears the roar of thousand tonne engines, the heavy, air turning pressure of a Halcyon class cruiser taking off.

The Pillar of Autumn, larger than cities, slipping up off the ground and into the sky, disappearing through the curling, dying atmosphere of Reach.

Time passes, and Emile feels himself slipping further away, but long held instincts draw his attention to the sound of alien shouting coming from behind. Six drops out of the MAC gun, drawing his weapon. The wind picks up, blowing dust across the ground and into the air.

Emile watches through shuttered eyes as Six fights on, and on… and on.

Grunts and Elites and Jackals falling beneath his weapon fire. But he’s slowing, weakening under each blow to his shields, each round of plasma fire he doesn’t quite dodge. Cracks appear in his helmet, rips in the flex-kev seams around his arms and torso.

When he runs out of ammo he reaches down and scoops up one of the dropped Covenant weapons, returning fire.

But like any candle burning too brightly, it cannot last forever. Emile watches as Six, duel wielding now, goes down under the force of an Elite Zealot. He manages to kick it off, driving it back with a burst of gunfire, but there’s another one, there’s always another one.

The second Zealot crouches over Six, energy sword lifting and then plunging down. The bullet-fire dies out.

The remaining Elites gather, then move off in a cluster.

In his failing heart, Emile reaches out to the last member of Noble Team. That last burning spark of Reach, the planet’s final guardian.

It too… is snuffed out.

Chapter Text

The whirring hum of the Pelican thrums beneath Jun as it swings around above the desolate surface. Covenant bodies litter the ground, all the way over towards where the MAC gun sits. Dust swirls, but Jun is nothing if not sharp-eyed.

“This is it! Set her down!” He shouts to pilot, there’s an acknowledgement and the pelican’s altitude lowers sharply, dropping to hover above the barren dirt. Jun jumps, medics dropping down behind him, and running across the dirt as the Pelican rises to circle above.

A grey shape lays fallen amongst the corpses of several Elite Zealots ahead. Jun’s helmet pings a life sign, faint, fading… but just holding on. There’s another, to his right, the ally marker flickering to life as he nears.

“There, go!” He waves two of the medics towards where Emile must be, and seconds later he is dropping down beside the body of Six. The Spartan is in bad shape, his visor has a massive crack splitting it, webbing splinters off on either side, blood; glowing covenant and red human stains his grey armour, has leaked out onto the ground around him.

The medic at his side looks up from his data pad, swiftly plugged into the port under the Spartan’s arm.

His face is not encouraging, “His suit’s med-system is down. I’m seeing minimal med-gel applications, this wound…” His hand presses against the energy sword burn marks surrounding the sheared hole in the body-plate.

“Then we do this the old fashioned way,” Jun says.

They rip open the medkit, and Jun applies bio-foam to the scorched crevasse taking over Six’s chest, while the medic hooks up the auto-breather to the suit's system. Prepares the extraneous IV and blood line and ports that in as well.

There’s no visible response. That’s one problem with Spartan armour – can’t check someone’s pulse, can’t see if they’re breathing if the suit’s own diagnostics are down. And you can’t take it off without risking further damage.

“He’s stabilising, a little.” The medic offers, and doesn’t add anything else when Jun grabs Six’s hand, giving limp fingers a squeeze.

“He’ll pull through. He’s Noble Team.” Jun says, and means it.

Chapter Text

Dust blows across the scorched earth, catching on the edges of a broken helmet, covers a fallen body. The air is dry and thinning, filled with clouds of smoke and ash. Orange coloured.

Far above, where the stars are blocked out, an area of void hovering close above the planet shivers, and then expands in a crackle of blue-purple energy.

Half a covenant super carrier bursts into existence from slip-space, sending a wave of energy out before it.

Jorge staggers to his feet.

The body of the Pelican creaks and groans above him as he sways, and makes his way towards the view deck. If it hadn’t worked, if they haven't taken out the super-carrier… Something doesn’t look quite right, doesn’t quite look like what he’d left behind. Far below Reach is more orange than green now.

The wave of energy expands, then dissipates, but not before it passes across hundreds of miles of burnt terrain. Time, collapsed, and then expanding all too suddenly, finding what outlet it can as it rushes forth from it epicentre. The broken Pelican, and beside it, a man… a Spartan.

It passes through Reach. Here, a flower rises from the ash in a bloom then closes, forming back into a bud, then shrinking down on its stalk. There, a mountain side ruptured in two – shivers, rocks bouncing, tumbling in reverse until the earth is whole.

In an abandoned field morgue outside the ruins of New Alexandria a bullet works its way out of flesh and bone, breath fills lungs.

The wreckage of a Pelican, scattered across a crevasse filled cliff-face, rattles, screws rolling across the ground. A hand twitches.

In the shadow of a MAC gun, a body shifts, skull carved helmet turning towards…

… a body in a field. Clad in grey and surrounded by new, green shoots of grass.

A heart starts beating. Noble Six sits up.