Q
Quail
Guest
Original poster
Hello there, this is the IC thread for the Halo: Project Kindred roleplay! If you are interested please use the link for the OOC thread and sign-ups, and please take not that there's only room for about two-three ODSTs now.
For those of you here from the sign-ups, welcome, and please also know that the ODSTs will be incorporated upon the Spartan's arrival as they have not been woken up from cryosleep yet!
OOC and sign-ups: OPEN SIGNUPS - Halo: Project Kindred ((OOC and sign-ups))
Thank you and enjoy the rp!
-Prolouge-
August 1st, 2552
0100 hours
Orbit above Planet Reach,
Epsilon Eridani System
Captain Geralt Finnick stood with his hands clasped roughly behind his back, his cold blue eyes trained on the battle unfolding in Reach’s orbit; one he wouldn’t be joining for once. A cold sweat broke out along his brow as he struggled with his orders, hating that he had to turn tail and run when there were countless human lives being snuffed out. Though, he knew deep down that there would be no winning this fight..no, this war they had tumbled into. Somberly he watched as another of the Mac guns went down under a volley of plasma, the behemoth of alloys and writhing coils falling back into atmosphere in a bloom of smoke and fire. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they would lose this war--The Covenant would lead to Humanity’s downfall and, possibly, extinction.
“Captain,” Navigator Cecil Li called, her usually tidy dark hair falling into her face as she typed frantically into her computer, “The coordinates are set, waiting on your command to jump!”
Finnick grit his teeth and slammed his hands onto his console. He had orders.
He mourned those aboard the handful of ships left in orbit and those planetside as he turned away and grabbed a Sweet William cigar from his pocket. Of course he wouldn't smoke it, it was against the rules to light anything on the bridge, but he held onto it to ease his mind. Everything SCREAMED inside him to fight, to push those Covie bastards back and die along with his fellow soldiers--but his resolve held. He had his orders. Protect Halsey’s AI at all costs.
Looking back at it, it had caught him quite off guard when six SPARTAN-IIs showed up on The Rising Sun’s doorstep with an order from ONI: a classified mission meant for the protection and secrecy of a second revolutionary AI, simply known as Project Kindred. He himself was also given another ‘smart’ AI from ONI, despite already having Iris aboard; but instead of navigating the ship as his ship’s AI did, this ‘spook’ AI was to ensure that Halsey’s creation didn’t fall into Covenant hands. He didn’t like it, but they were his orders and now these were his men and women to look out for, and he’d be damned if he let them die under his command.
“Make the jump,” he barked as he bit on his unlit cigar anxiously. He would make the Covenant pay--no matter what it took, he would damn make them atone for all the lives lost in this bloody war.
Iris’s melodic voice filled the bridge as she counted down,
“Jump in 3, 2, 1...Mark!”
The Rising Sun lurched forward into slipspace, the hull shaking as she disappeared with a blink into the darkness of space.
However, the Destroyer had not gone unnoticed.
The Covenant Carrier--Reaper of Advance--had caught sight of them.
“There is a Human destroyer fleeing, your Excellency. Shall we follow them,” one of Xula’Katamee’s navigator's inquired, his hands already darting around his console, “They seem to be heading for-”
“We have been given orders to stay here. Unless it is of the utmost importance I will not abandon my post over some pathetic cowards turning from battle,” the Shipmaster growled, cutting him off with his mandibles clicking in annoyance. He had no time for this. The heretics that were the human race were putting up quite a fight, but they would lose, as they always have and always will. Afterall, what were they to the might that was the glorious Covenant? The shipmaster huffed something akin to a scoff, his three digits coming to rest lightly on his cheek in an almost pensive pose. This ship that his navigator had caught wind of…Xula had a peculiar feeling about it...where was is going exactly, in the midst of such an important battle? The Sangheili was dragged from his thoughts by his navigator, the underling spouting something that caught his attention and filled him with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
“But Shipmaster, it IS important! Their course dictates they’re heading to the artifact we were told to guard after this battle!”
‘Katamee looked over his map with a sneer, mandibles clicking with anticipation. So, the filthy humans were going to the artifact...he’d be damned if he let them so much as set eyes upon it. He would not fail his duties, by the Prophets he would make them kneel before him.
“Plot a course. I want to exit behind the planet. Let’s stay under their radar, shall we?”
“Yes, Shipmaster. Departing in 3, 2, 1.” The Reaper of Advance purred as she slipped silently into slipstream.
Xula sat tall, his eyes trained on the aurora of color his ship was flowing through. “Send a message to the Commander and High Charity, let them know that they can consider the heretics dead and can continue on the attack without a worry,” he relayed crisply.
“Yes, Shipmaster.”
Those vermin had the nerve to try to defile another holy relic, how very folly of them. No matter. He would squash them like the insects they were, and relish the screams as they writhed under his foot.
-Start-
August 8th, 2552
0300 hours
Unknown location,
Unknown System
Mick was taken abruptly from the cold dreamless embrace of cryosleep with a jolt of awareness and a slight panic, his eyes shooting open as he scanned for any danger; though his senses were dulled from the sleep, he was sure after looking over everything twice. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But if there was no danger, why wake him up? He shook his head and tried to blink away the blurriness obscuring his vision--he wasn’t trained to think about those things, he was trained to fight and win. The Spartan sat up slowly and rubbed the grogginess from his adjusting eyes with a nauseating taste in the back of his throat, a slight gag erupting from his esophagus.
God, he hated cryosleep.
With lightning speed, he grabbed a waste bag from beside his chamber and regurgitated the mucus-like nutrients that laid dormant inside his body, courtesy of the forced sleep and its protocols. His body shuddered, muscles taut and jittery as he spit the last of the disgusting mixture out with an undetectable grimace.
He really did hate that part of waking up..
A deep violet ray of light seeped from the console beside him and the ship’s AI flickered to being with a fluttering of holographic feathery muddy brown wings, the artificial intelligence forming into a tall, proud woman with a straight face and billowing robes.
“Mick-126 I presume. Get...dressed...and head to the bridge, Captain Finnick wants to see you,” she spoke commandingly and unflinchingly before blinking away in a flash of feathers.
She reminded him of something Dèja had taught him and the other Spartans of--the Harpies of greek mythology, though this AI was much more easy on the eyes than those insane hags he’d learned of.
However this was curious. He hadn’t known this ship had its own smart AI. Well, technically there were now three aboard--though the one Halsey had entrusted him with was superior to that of a normal ‘smart’ AI, and the one ONI had given to him had already been passed onto the Captain as an added bodyguard to Halsey’s. Speaking of, perhaps the Captain could tell him where they had put his creator’s AI whilst he had been asleep--or maybe that ONI ‘operative’ of an AI could tell him, hopefully not involving a whole slew of questions and protocols.
Mick rubbed his eyes again and stood with a tall stretch, his cramped muscles thanking him for the release from the stiffness that often accompanied cryosleep. His neck popped as he turned and tilted it side to side, the relief flooding through his bones with each new crack to his neck, back, arms and legs.
Heaving a deep sigh he scanned the room for the third time, sharp eyes catching and studying each of his newly assigned Spartan’s cryo chambers. A sting of what could have been sadness pricked at him as he remembered his original team--idly pondering where Viola and Valon had been assigned this time, and if they were alright. They had always been fine Spartans, saving his ass from time to time as he had done for them. But even the most skilled Spartans could fall. A twinge of worry stabbed at his gut, but he pushed it away quickly and calmly. They would be okay, he knew they wouldn’t die now, not after all they had been through...or so he told himself.
The one thing he was a little concerned about now however, was this new ragtag group of Spartans; soldiers he didn’t know if he could trust in having his back, or even trust to listen to him and obey his orders--not to mention the lack of or possession of skill regarding team tactics or even teamwork in general. For all he knew, the last time they had incorporated teamwork into anything could have been back during their training on Reach. It also had to be taken into account that some teams were not as lucky as his had been, some had lost more than two members, so how any of them would operate in a new five man team was, if summed up in one word, unpredictable. Mick sighed quietly as he walked past his new sleeping team with the loping gait of someone used to walking aboard starships, he would deal with all of that later, when they woke up. Making his way to the locker that held his armor, he briefly noted there was a jumble of weapons lockers and thick steel benches, a Spartan laser peeking from a locker catching his eye for a fraction of a second before he stopped at his own designated locker and prepared to suit up. He hoped this is what the AI meant by getting ‘dressed’.
The titanium closets that held the Spartan’s armor were different than the ones holding their weapons, these were sealed tightly and required a retinal scan to open; well, that or enough firepower to blow through an entire planet. The scientists and weapons specialists of ONI did not waste time it seemed. Mick palmed open the scanner’s protective flap and brought his eye level with the laser, the sharp stab of light blinding him for a fraction of a second before it beeped a confirmation and the cold door popped ajar. He swung the metal open and paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the titanium as he took in his Mjolnir armor in all its glory. Even when empty, the iridescent blue-grey Mark VI Mjolnir armor looked formidable and daunting, like a warrior in waiting. Snapping out of his daze, he quickly, though VERY carefully, suited up with the grace of someone well versed and comfortable with the task at hand. It had taken him less than ten minutes to get the suit on by himself, a new record he noted as he stood and stared absentmindedly at the scored helmet held in his gauntleted hands--that of which was littered with quite the amount of scratches and slight burns, a memoir to all of his gruesome campaigns.
“Spartan-126, please report to the bridge.” A melodic voice rang out of the intercom with resounding clarity--it was the AI, as Mick had recalled. With a grunt of acknowledgement he slipped his helmet on with a pressurizing hiss, his HUD blinking and bringing up diagnostics as the suit did a systems check--a small chirp assuring him that everything was working right. He briefly remembered a time that he had almost had all of his bones crushed when the hydrostatic gel layers had malfunctioned slightly, quite a scare that only proved that machines DO break; even Spartan’s toys of war. Though, thankfully, this was back when he was wearing the Mark V and the techs had since then fixed, and even enhanced, quite a number of things in the suit.
With a slight shake of his helmeted head, Mick shrugged off the memory and walked to the door that led to the lift he’d have to take to get to the bridge, pressing the large call button with a sense of anxiety as he pondered what it was he had been woken up for. There had to be danger, otherwise why wake a Spartan? He blew out a hefty breath as the lift came down at what seemed like a snail’s pace to him, a miniscule relief trickling through him as it finally came all the way down with the sharp clank of steel. The doors, if you would call them that, opened like a pair of arms welcoming him inside and as he stepped forward, he glanced back at his sleeping team for a heartbeat before climbing into the lift and pressing the oversized button to go upwards.
“See you guys when you wake up,” he muttered to the metal caskets that kept his spartans asleep, before the doors folded closed and cut off his visual.
--
--
Mick stepped onto the bridge with an urgency to his steps, a norm for most spartans, though he felt as if he were late. Everyone in the room either turned or looked over as the door slid open and he walked inside clad in his Mjolnir armor, his eyes roaming, and ignoring, the gawking faces of the bridge officers until his gaze landed upon the Captain; whom was standing beside a podium that held a shimmer of violet light and the ship’s AI that stood with a hip cocked and her expression screaming impatience. The Captain, however, looked completely calm and controlled, until you looked into his frigid eyes--there was a slight fear churning inside those icy orbs and Mick wanted to know why.
“Captain, Mick-126 reporting,” he barked as he snapped a salute.
“At ease soldier,” Captain Finnick said as he motioned the spartan over with a hand, “come here son, I need to show you something.”
Mick instantly obeyed and walked over swiftly, his eyes following the Captain’s hand as he pointed at something on the current star system’s map; a picture, captured from a probe they had shot out upon arrival, showed something strange. There were five different planets, one sun, and about seven moons in total--but that wasn’t what he was being shown. Captain Finnick’s rough finger pointed at something hovering close to a lush green and warm blue littered planet, the fourth farthest from the sun. The object, much like a kind of satellite, was something of a shimmering behemoth seemingly made up of some kind of alloy-steel-like material that made the system’s sun glint harshly off of it. It certainly did not look human, or Covenant for that matter.
“Now, we’re not sure what..that..is, but we intend to find out. ONI seems to think so too, I just got word from that AI we have on loan,” Finnick paused and glanced at the AI on the console beside him, “that we can deploy you and your team onto that satellite. Iris please try to wake her up, would you?”
“Yes, Captain. And Spartan, before you ask, we ARE indeed sure that it IS a satellite--seeing as it’s fitted with quite the long range receptors and an even more impressive array of beacons, cameras and the like. It’s still broadcasting something, though I can’t decipher what exactly it’s trying to say...the message just repeats what I’ve translated as ‘Reclaimer’ over and over,” The feathered AI relayed with a scowl, something akin to concentration marring her expression as data scrolled through her ‘body’ in numbers and algorithms.
“Also, please wake up the other Spartans,” the Captain added, pulling out a Sweet Williams cigar from his pocket as he turned to address Mick, “you and your team deploy via Pelican in forty five, we’ve detected a sizable hangar inside that satellite, so gear up son. Ah, and good morning.”
“Yessir,” Mick sounded with another salute before he turned on his heel and made to navigate back down the lift to his team. So many questions swam about his mind that it made his head spin. Where where they? Who made that satellite? Where was Halsey’s AI? Would the ONI AI be coming with them on their mission? What had the message meant by repeating ‘Reclaimer’?
The Spartan heaved a silent sigh as he reached the lift, something he’d done quite a lot ever since coming aboard this ship. Well, at least now he could meet his team, right?
“Echo Team please report to the hangar for mission assignment. I repeat-” Iris’s voice boomed from the intercom, the words following him even as the lift descended back to where he had woken up. Part of him wished he could just get through this mission and, as much as he hated it, go back into cryosleep--but the other part of him wanted to find out what this satellite was and who exactly had made it. But if you asked him, something felt very very strange about this whole scenario….something was off...and ONI was definitely keeping information about that satellite a secret.
The doors opened, and immediately he shook the heavy inquires off. He stepped off the lift and took note of the now ajar pods, then, as he rounded the slight corner of the room, he was greeted by the sight of his four other Spartans all geared up and ready to set out. Mick allowed a small smile to tug at his lips under his helmet, but made no movement to express it outward. He strode over to them and stopped just short of the weapons lockers, examining each of his team members with a critical eye.
“Vance-102,” Mick named the hulking Spartan clad in MK. V armor and sent a nod to him.
“Morgan-163,” he looked at the smaller and thinner built Spartan in the newer Recon armor and swiped two fingers across his faceplate in the Spartan sign for a smile.
“Sara-115,” he studied the normally sized Spartan sporting another new variant of the Mark VI, the E.V.A armor, and repeated the gesture of a smile to her.
“Volkov-178,” his orbs slid across the tall hefty Spartan attired in what seemed to be his own modded gear, and nodded at him.
"Mikhael-123," his gaze fell upon the last member, an afterthought to Echo Team as ordered by both FLEETCOM and ONI that made Mick a little uneasy, though he still sent a slight tilt of his head to the Spartan.
Good. They were all he had read about, hell maybe even more than he expected--but he’d have to see their combat prowess as well.
“My name is Mick, or Mick-126 if you want to be formal, and as you probably already know, I am Echo Team’s leader. Now, the Captain and the ship’s AI, Iris, are going to brief you all when we get to the hangar. Though I was already told our mission and some information pertaining to it, I don’t know much--the one thing I know is that we don’t know jack about anything here, so watch your backs; but more importantly, watch each other’s backs.” He looked around at each of his new team members with a sense of hope in his breast. Hell, maybe this would go better than he thought. Only time would tell. But for now, he had to grab his weapons and hustle down to the hangar, else they might be a little late.
Quickly, he stalked to his locker with urgency and pulled out his favored weaponry: a BR55HB SR battle rifle, MA5B assault rifle, and M6D magnum. He strapped the two bigger guns onto his back and clipped the pistol to its designated spot on his thigh, all whilst Iris began a new report.
“Echo Team your deployment is in T-minus twenty minutes, please make your way to the hangar. I repeat-”
“Alright, you heard the lady, let’s get moving,” Mick called out, leading his team to the lift doors and pressing the large button down.
--
--
Echo Team departed from the lift and flooded into the cramped hangar, five Spartans following their team leader as he pathed through the crowded room to where Captain Finnick stood statuesque beside a scored Pelican etched with flames on the underside of its wings.
“Ah, Echo team,” the Captain greeted as they all stopped in front of him, his thin lips turning up into a wry smile, “glad you could make it. Cutting it a bit close to launch, no?”
Mick smiled back smally, but instantly remembered that the Captain couldn’t see him underneath his helmet.
“Likewise Captain,” the Spartan said back with the sharp tone of a soldier, his gaze meeting Finnick’s under his helmet, “but, no, we’re not cutting it close. We’re precisely on time.”
The Captain chuckled at this and tucked his hand into his breast pocket, fishing out a large neural data chip and handing it to Mick with a miniscule smirk. For a moment the Spartan was mesmerized, his eyes trained on the glowing center of the chip; the luminescent orange like a small imploding star. He took the chip with a cocked brow his commanding officer couldn’t see, a questioning light tilt of his head instead portraying his confusion.
“Sir?”
“Ah, that is the ONI AI. She can introduce herself I’m sure. ONI wanted her on this mission, so take good care of her son.” With that said, the Captain made to leave, though stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the newly assembled team of Spartan-IIs.
“Spartans, we don’t know what this...construct..it, but this is what we do know--it is indeed a satellite as we had thought upon first scans and photos, it is made of an unidentifiable metal or alloy, and we don’t know who the hell made it. Your mission is to find out anything and everything you can, and that comes from both ONI and FLEETCOM-” He spoke with a resounding voice, his frigid orbs stopping on each of Echo Team’s faceplates until finally stopping on Mick’s, “And one more thing, your AI that Halsey gave you, she’s staying on the ship until you come back. But don’t worry, she’ll be waiting for you so hurry back, it's not nice to leave a lady waiting.”
Mick nodded and looked to the Pelican almost absentmindedly for a split second. He didn’t know what to think with having to be apart from that AI...he was supposed to protect it, not go hunting ghosts in a seemingly abandoned satellite. He shook it off with a silent sigh and stepped aboard the Pelican with a glance at the vibrant chip still held inside his palm, taking a seat as his Spartans filed in behind him and followed suit.
“ONI AI, huh,” Mick mumbled to himself, “let’s see who’s inside here, why don’t we?”
Upon inserting the chip into the back of his helmet to where his neural implants lay, a cold sensation trickled into his brain similar to that of getting a brainfreeze--the feeling making the squad leader furrow his brows from underneath his helmet. He had always hated the feeling that accompanied the presence of an AI inside his head.
“Hello?” He called inside his helmet quietly, awaiting a response from the artificial intelligence as the Pelican rumbled to life beneath him, sliding his gaze discreetly around the cabin as the ship prepared to take off.
He didn’t know what was to come, and honestly, that left the Spartan feeling something akin to scared.
For those of you here from the sign-ups, welcome, and please also know that the ODSTs will be incorporated upon the Spartan's arrival as they have not been woken up from cryosleep yet!
OOC and sign-ups: OPEN SIGNUPS - Halo: Project Kindred ((OOC and sign-ups))
Thank you and enjoy the rp!
-Prolouge-
August 1st, 2552
0100 hours
Orbit above Planet Reach,
Epsilon Eridani System
Captain Geralt Finnick stood with his hands clasped roughly behind his back, his cold blue eyes trained on the battle unfolding in Reach’s orbit; one he wouldn’t be joining for once. A cold sweat broke out along his brow as he struggled with his orders, hating that he had to turn tail and run when there were countless human lives being snuffed out. Though, he knew deep down that there would be no winning this fight..no, this war they had tumbled into. Somberly he watched as another of the Mac guns went down under a volley of plasma, the behemoth of alloys and writhing coils falling back into atmosphere in a bloom of smoke and fire. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that they would lose this war--The Covenant would lead to Humanity’s downfall and, possibly, extinction.
“Captain,” Navigator Cecil Li called, her usually tidy dark hair falling into her face as she typed frantically into her computer, “The coordinates are set, waiting on your command to jump!”
Finnick grit his teeth and slammed his hands onto his console. He had orders.
He mourned those aboard the handful of ships left in orbit and those planetside as he turned away and grabbed a Sweet William cigar from his pocket. Of course he wouldn't smoke it, it was against the rules to light anything on the bridge, but he held onto it to ease his mind. Everything SCREAMED inside him to fight, to push those Covie bastards back and die along with his fellow soldiers--but his resolve held. He had his orders. Protect Halsey’s AI at all costs.
Looking back at it, it had caught him quite off guard when six SPARTAN-IIs showed up on The Rising Sun’s doorstep with an order from ONI: a classified mission meant for the protection and secrecy of a second revolutionary AI, simply known as Project Kindred. He himself was also given another ‘smart’ AI from ONI, despite already having Iris aboard; but instead of navigating the ship as his ship’s AI did, this ‘spook’ AI was to ensure that Halsey’s creation didn’t fall into Covenant hands. He didn’t like it, but they were his orders and now these were his men and women to look out for, and he’d be damned if he let them die under his command.
“Make the jump,” he barked as he bit on his unlit cigar anxiously. He would make the Covenant pay--no matter what it took, he would damn make them atone for all the lives lost in this bloody war.
Iris’s melodic voice filled the bridge as she counted down,
“Jump in 3, 2, 1...Mark!”
The Rising Sun lurched forward into slipspace, the hull shaking as she disappeared with a blink into the darkness of space.
However, the Destroyer had not gone unnoticed.
The Covenant Carrier--Reaper of Advance--had caught sight of them.
“There is a Human destroyer fleeing, your Excellency. Shall we follow them,” one of Xula’Katamee’s navigator's inquired, his hands already darting around his console, “They seem to be heading for-”
“We have been given orders to stay here. Unless it is of the utmost importance I will not abandon my post over some pathetic cowards turning from battle,” the Shipmaster growled, cutting him off with his mandibles clicking in annoyance. He had no time for this. The heretics that were the human race were putting up quite a fight, but they would lose, as they always have and always will. Afterall, what were they to the might that was the glorious Covenant? The shipmaster huffed something akin to a scoff, his three digits coming to rest lightly on his cheek in an almost pensive pose. This ship that his navigator had caught wind of…Xula had a peculiar feeling about it...where was is going exactly, in the midst of such an important battle? The Sangheili was dragged from his thoughts by his navigator, the underling spouting something that caught his attention and filled him with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
“But Shipmaster, it IS important! Their course dictates they’re heading to the artifact we were told to guard after this battle!”
‘Katamee looked over his map with a sneer, mandibles clicking with anticipation. So, the filthy humans were going to the artifact...he’d be damned if he let them so much as set eyes upon it. He would not fail his duties, by the Prophets he would make them kneel before him.
“Plot a course. I want to exit behind the planet. Let’s stay under their radar, shall we?”
“Yes, Shipmaster. Departing in 3, 2, 1.” The Reaper of Advance purred as she slipped silently into slipstream.
Xula sat tall, his eyes trained on the aurora of color his ship was flowing through. “Send a message to the Commander and High Charity, let them know that they can consider the heretics dead and can continue on the attack without a worry,” he relayed crisply.
“Yes, Shipmaster.”
Those vermin had the nerve to try to defile another holy relic, how very folly of them. No matter. He would squash them like the insects they were, and relish the screams as they writhed under his foot.
-Start-
August 8th, 2552
0300 hours
Unknown location,
Unknown System
Mick was taken abruptly from the cold dreamless embrace of cryosleep with a jolt of awareness and a slight panic, his eyes shooting open as he scanned for any danger; though his senses were dulled from the sleep, he was sure after looking over everything twice. There was nothing out of the ordinary. But if there was no danger, why wake him up? He shook his head and tried to blink away the blurriness obscuring his vision--he wasn’t trained to think about those things, he was trained to fight and win. The Spartan sat up slowly and rubbed the grogginess from his adjusting eyes with a nauseating taste in the back of his throat, a slight gag erupting from his esophagus.
God, he hated cryosleep.
With lightning speed, he grabbed a waste bag from beside his chamber and regurgitated the mucus-like nutrients that laid dormant inside his body, courtesy of the forced sleep and its protocols. His body shuddered, muscles taut and jittery as he spit the last of the disgusting mixture out with an undetectable grimace.
He really did hate that part of waking up..
A deep violet ray of light seeped from the console beside him and the ship’s AI flickered to being with a fluttering of holographic feathery muddy brown wings, the artificial intelligence forming into a tall, proud woman with a straight face and billowing robes.
“Mick-126 I presume. Get...dressed...and head to the bridge, Captain Finnick wants to see you,” she spoke commandingly and unflinchingly before blinking away in a flash of feathers.
She reminded him of something Dèja had taught him and the other Spartans of--the Harpies of greek mythology, though this AI was much more easy on the eyes than those insane hags he’d learned of.
However this was curious. He hadn’t known this ship had its own smart AI. Well, technically there were now three aboard--though the one Halsey had entrusted him with was superior to that of a normal ‘smart’ AI, and the one ONI had given to him had already been passed onto the Captain as an added bodyguard to Halsey’s. Speaking of, perhaps the Captain could tell him where they had put his creator’s AI whilst he had been asleep--or maybe that ONI ‘operative’ of an AI could tell him, hopefully not involving a whole slew of questions and protocols.
Mick rubbed his eyes again and stood with a tall stretch, his cramped muscles thanking him for the release from the stiffness that often accompanied cryosleep. His neck popped as he turned and tilted it side to side, the relief flooding through his bones with each new crack to his neck, back, arms and legs.
Heaving a deep sigh he scanned the room for the third time, sharp eyes catching and studying each of his newly assigned Spartan’s cryo chambers. A sting of what could have been sadness pricked at him as he remembered his original team--idly pondering where Viola and Valon had been assigned this time, and if they were alright. They had always been fine Spartans, saving his ass from time to time as he had done for them. But even the most skilled Spartans could fall. A twinge of worry stabbed at his gut, but he pushed it away quickly and calmly. They would be okay, he knew they wouldn’t die now, not after all they had been through...or so he told himself.
The one thing he was a little concerned about now however, was this new ragtag group of Spartans; soldiers he didn’t know if he could trust in having his back, or even trust to listen to him and obey his orders--not to mention the lack of or possession of skill regarding team tactics or even teamwork in general. For all he knew, the last time they had incorporated teamwork into anything could have been back during their training on Reach. It also had to be taken into account that some teams were not as lucky as his had been, some had lost more than two members, so how any of them would operate in a new five man team was, if summed up in one word, unpredictable. Mick sighed quietly as he walked past his new sleeping team with the loping gait of someone used to walking aboard starships, he would deal with all of that later, when they woke up. Making his way to the locker that held his armor, he briefly noted there was a jumble of weapons lockers and thick steel benches, a Spartan laser peeking from a locker catching his eye for a fraction of a second before he stopped at his own designated locker and prepared to suit up. He hoped this is what the AI meant by getting ‘dressed’.
The titanium closets that held the Spartan’s armor were different than the ones holding their weapons, these were sealed tightly and required a retinal scan to open; well, that or enough firepower to blow through an entire planet. The scientists and weapons specialists of ONI did not waste time it seemed. Mick palmed open the scanner’s protective flap and brought his eye level with the laser, the sharp stab of light blinding him for a fraction of a second before it beeped a confirmation and the cold door popped ajar. He swung the metal open and paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the titanium as he took in his Mjolnir armor in all its glory. Even when empty, the iridescent blue-grey Mark VI Mjolnir armor looked formidable and daunting, like a warrior in waiting. Snapping out of his daze, he quickly, though VERY carefully, suited up with the grace of someone well versed and comfortable with the task at hand. It had taken him less than ten minutes to get the suit on by himself, a new record he noted as he stood and stared absentmindedly at the scored helmet held in his gauntleted hands--that of which was littered with quite the amount of scratches and slight burns, a memoir to all of his gruesome campaigns.
“Spartan-126, please report to the bridge.” A melodic voice rang out of the intercom with resounding clarity--it was the AI, as Mick had recalled. With a grunt of acknowledgement he slipped his helmet on with a pressurizing hiss, his HUD blinking and bringing up diagnostics as the suit did a systems check--a small chirp assuring him that everything was working right. He briefly remembered a time that he had almost had all of his bones crushed when the hydrostatic gel layers had malfunctioned slightly, quite a scare that only proved that machines DO break; even Spartan’s toys of war. Though, thankfully, this was back when he was wearing the Mark V and the techs had since then fixed, and even enhanced, quite a number of things in the suit.
With a slight shake of his helmeted head, Mick shrugged off the memory and walked to the door that led to the lift he’d have to take to get to the bridge, pressing the large call button with a sense of anxiety as he pondered what it was he had been woken up for. There had to be danger, otherwise why wake a Spartan? He blew out a hefty breath as the lift came down at what seemed like a snail’s pace to him, a miniscule relief trickling through him as it finally came all the way down with the sharp clank of steel. The doors, if you would call them that, opened like a pair of arms welcoming him inside and as he stepped forward, he glanced back at his sleeping team for a heartbeat before climbing into the lift and pressing the oversized button to go upwards.
“See you guys when you wake up,” he muttered to the metal caskets that kept his spartans asleep, before the doors folded closed and cut off his visual.
--
--
Mick stepped onto the bridge with an urgency to his steps, a norm for most spartans, though he felt as if he were late. Everyone in the room either turned or looked over as the door slid open and he walked inside clad in his Mjolnir armor, his eyes roaming, and ignoring, the gawking faces of the bridge officers until his gaze landed upon the Captain; whom was standing beside a podium that held a shimmer of violet light and the ship’s AI that stood with a hip cocked and her expression screaming impatience. The Captain, however, looked completely calm and controlled, until you looked into his frigid eyes--there was a slight fear churning inside those icy orbs and Mick wanted to know why.
“Captain, Mick-126 reporting,” he barked as he snapped a salute.
“At ease soldier,” Captain Finnick said as he motioned the spartan over with a hand, “come here son, I need to show you something.”
Mick instantly obeyed and walked over swiftly, his eyes following the Captain’s hand as he pointed at something on the current star system’s map; a picture, captured from a probe they had shot out upon arrival, showed something strange. There were five different planets, one sun, and about seven moons in total--but that wasn’t what he was being shown. Captain Finnick’s rough finger pointed at something hovering close to a lush green and warm blue littered planet, the fourth farthest from the sun. The object, much like a kind of satellite, was something of a shimmering behemoth seemingly made up of some kind of alloy-steel-like material that made the system’s sun glint harshly off of it. It certainly did not look human, or Covenant for that matter.
“Now, we’re not sure what..that..is, but we intend to find out. ONI seems to think so too, I just got word from that AI we have on loan,” Finnick paused and glanced at the AI on the console beside him, “that we can deploy you and your team onto that satellite. Iris please try to wake her up, would you?”
“Yes, Captain. And Spartan, before you ask, we ARE indeed sure that it IS a satellite--seeing as it’s fitted with quite the long range receptors and an even more impressive array of beacons, cameras and the like. It’s still broadcasting something, though I can’t decipher what exactly it’s trying to say...the message just repeats what I’ve translated as ‘Reclaimer’ over and over,” The feathered AI relayed with a scowl, something akin to concentration marring her expression as data scrolled through her ‘body’ in numbers and algorithms.
“Also, please wake up the other Spartans,” the Captain added, pulling out a Sweet Williams cigar from his pocket as he turned to address Mick, “you and your team deploy via Pelican in forty five, we’ve detected a sizable hangar inside that satellite, so gear up son. Ah, and good morning.”
“Yessir,” Mick sounded with another salute before he turned on his heel and made to navigate back down the lift to his team. So many questions swam about his mind that it made his head spin. Where where they? Who made that satellite? Where was Halsey’s AI? Would the ONI AI be coming with them on their mission? What had the message meant by repeating ‘Reclaimer’?
The Spartan heaved a silent sigh as he reached the lift, something he’d done quite a lot ever since coming aboard this ship. Well, at least now he could meet his team, right?
“Echo Team please report to the hangar for mission assignment. I repeat-” Iris’s voice boomed from the intercom, the words following him even as the lift descended back to where he had woken up. Part of him wished he could just get through this mission and, as much as he hated it, go back into cryosleep--but the other part of him wanted to find out what this satellite was and who exactly had made it. But if you asked him, something felt very very strange about this whole scenario….something was off...and ONI was definitely keeping information about that satellite a secret.
The doors opened, and immediately he shook the heavy inquires off. He stepped off the lift and took note of the now ajar pods, then, as he rounded the slight corner of the room, he was greeted by the sight of his four other Spartans all geared up and ready to set out. Mick allowed a small smile to tug at his lips under his helmet, but made no movement to express it outward. He strode over to them and stopped just short of the weapons lockers, examining each of his team members with a critical eye.
“Vance-102,” Mick named the hulking Spartan clad in MK. V armor and sent a nod to him.
“Morgan-163,” he looked at the smaller and thinner built Spartan in the newer Recon armor and swiped two fingers across his faceplate in the Spartan sign for a smile.
“Sara-115,” he studied the normally sized Spartan sporting another new variant of the Mark VI, the E.V.A armor, and repeated the gesture of a smile to her.
“Volkov-178,” his orbs slid across the tall hefty Spartan attired in what seemed to be his own modded gear, and nodded at him.
"Mikhael-123," his gaze fell upon the last member, an afterthought to Echo Team as ordered by both FLEETCOM and ONI that made Mick a little uneasy, though he still sent a slight tilt of his head to the Spartan.
Good. They were all he had read about, hell maybe even more than he expected--but he’d have to see their combat prowess as well.
“My name is Mick, or Mick-126 if you want to be formal, and as you probably already know, I am Echo Team’s leader. Now, the Captain and the ship’s AI, Iris, are going to brief you all when we get to the hangar. Though I was already told our mission and some information pertaining to it, I don’t know much--the one thing I know is that we don’t know jack about anything here, so watch your backs; but more importantly, watch each other’s backs.” He looked around at each of his new team members with a sense of hope in his breast. Hell, maybe this would go better than he thought. Only time would tell. But for now, he had to grab his weapons and hustle down to the hangar, else they might be a little late.
Quickly, he stalked to his locker with urgency and pulled out his favored weaponry: a BR55HB SR battle rifle, MA5B assault rifle, and M6D magnum. He strapped the two bigger guns onto his back and clipped the pistol to its designated spot on his thigh, all whilst Iris began a new report.
“Echo Team your deployment is in T-minus twenty minutes, please make your way to the hangar. I repeat-”
“Alright, you heard the lady, let’s get moving,” Mick called out, leading his team to the lift doors and pressing the large button down.
--
--
Echo Team departed from the lift and flooded into the cramped hangar, five Spartans following their team leader as he pathed through the crowded room to where Captain Finnick stood statuesque beside a scored Pelican etched with flames on the underside of its wings.
“Ah, Echo team,” the Captain greeted as they all stopped in front of him, his thin lips turning up into a wry smile, “glad you could make it. Cutting it a bit close to launch, no?”
Mick smiled back smally, but instantly remembered that the Captain couldn’t see him underneath his helmet.
“Likewise Captain,” the Spartan said back with the sharp tone of a soldier, his gaze meeting Finnick’s under his helmet, “but, no, we’re not cutting it close. We’re precisely on time.”
The Captain chuckled at this and tucked his hand into his breast pocket, fishing out a large neural data chip and handing it to Mick with a miniscule smirk. For a moment the Spartan was mesmerized, his eyes trained on the glowing center of the chip; the luminescent orange like a small imploding star. He took the chip with a cocked brow his commanding officer couldn’t see, a questioning light tilt of his head instead portraying his confusion.
“Sir?”
“Ah, that is the ONI AI. She can introduce herself I’m sure. ONI wanted her on this mission, so take good care of her son.” With that said, the Captain made to leave, though stopped in his tracks and turned back to face the newly assembled team of Spartan-IIs.
“Spartans, we don’t know what this...construct..it, but this is what we do know--it is indeed a satellite as we had thought upon first scans and photos, it is made of an unidentifiable metal or alloy, and we don’t know who the hell made it. Your mission is to find out anything and everything you can, and that comes from both ONI and FLEETCOM-” He spoke with a resounding voice, his frigid orbs stopping on each of Echo Team’s faceplates until finally stopping on Mick’s, “And one more thing, your AI that Halsey gave you, she’s staying on the ship until you come back. But don’t worry, she’ll be waiting for you so hurry back, it's not nice to leave a lady waiting.”
Mick nodded and looked to the Pelican almost absentmindedly for a split second. He didn’t know what to think with having to be apart from that AI...he was supposed to protect it, not go hunting ghosts in a seemingly abandoned satellite. He shook it off with a silent sigh and stepped aboard the Pelican with a glance at the vibrant chip still held inside his palm, taking a seat as his Spartans filed in behind him and followed suit.
“ONI AI, huh,” Mick mumbled to himself, “let’s see who’s inside here, why don’t we?”
Upon inserting the chip into the back of his helmet to where his neural implants lay, a cold sensation trickled into his brain similar to that of getting a brainfreeze--the feeling making the squad leader furrow his brows from underneath his helmet. He had always hated the feeling that accompanied the presence of an AI inside his head.
“Hello?” He called inside his helmet quietly, awaiting a response from the artificial intelligence as the Pelican rumbled to life beneath him, sliding his gaze discreetly around the cabin as the ship prepared to take off.
He didn’t know what was to come, and honestly, that left the Spartan feeling something akin to scared.
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