AN: Thank you for all the reviews and PM comments! I appreciate all your feedback and hope you enjoy the action starting to pick up!

Helljumpers

0105 Hours, December 9th, 2554 (Military Calendar) / Zoness airspace, coordinates unknown.

Five lines of fire tore through the polluted sky.

After a month of occupation by a Venomian invasion fleet, the once beautiful agrarian world of Zoness had been reduced to a tarnished ecosystem converted for Andross' war effort. Hundreds of ships lay in orbit, and troops had been fabricating assets on the ground as a staging area to support further incursion into the Lylat System.

Far too late, anti-aircraft laser batteries began to dart up towards the unusually uniform objects crashing through the atmosphere. Ruby red bolts hissing as they disappeared into the dirty grey clouds of the ruined horizon. An encrypted E-band transmission crackled on the local airwaves.

"Gunny, we got movement by the dropzone."

The heat was intense, no less inhospitable than the turbulance rocking the black shapes crashing towards the industrial complex below.

"Red group, adjust heading three degrees magnetic north. Pop chutes."

Quad paneled canopies burst from the objects, arresting their descent with a violent lurch. Secondary retro thrusters began spitting propellant as the descent let off. Down below, an arrowhead shaped vehicle with angular red engine banks tracked its main canon skyward and began loosing heavy concussive bolts. Hovering steadily off the ground, the Venomian Light Tank was a mass produced design that could be quickly belched forth from landing craft throughout the contested region of space.

"Highlighting VLT, prioritize that target Lance Corporal."

"Copy, Gunny."

Inside the dark shapes hurtling towards the ground, digital displays read the trajectory of the pods along with collision warnings and comm readouts. Nestled in their harnesses, five black-armored figures clenched joysticks adjusting their descent. Hard, angular armored plating in gunmetal grey covered matte black vacuum suits, with polarized blue visors staring impassively at the readouts before them in the turbulent drop pods.

"On my mark..."

Chutes broke off, and thrusters burned the last of their propellant as the drop pods smashed into the insta-concrete ground of the refinery. A plume of rubble and dust sprang from the shallow craters of each crash site, followed a hairsbreadth later by charges that blew off the hatch doors.

"Mark!"

The Orbital Drop Shock Troopers ripped forth from their pods, readying their mag-clamped weapons with the practice of hundreds of sorties.

They ran across the bleak concrete and rust colored fabrication of a newly-built refinery on Occupied Zoness. All around them, Harlock class Venomian frigates were docked groundside amid refueling stations and hangars intended for re-armament. Despite the hasty nature of the Venomian base, it served its purpose as a forward staging area for the fleet's advance forces. It also meant the troopers were surrounded on all sides by enough ordinance and enemy troops to make the odds against them rise into the sextuple digits.

LCPL Fournier pivoted immediately outside his pod, bringing his heavy M41 SPNKr Rocket Launcher to bear on the VLT swiveling to their dropzone. He double-tapped the extended trigger, firing both barrels payload of 102mm HEAT/SC surface-to-surface warheads. The cloud of afterburn spewed forth as the missiles smashed into the turret of the Venomian tank, abruptly dropping the vehicle from its hovering position with a scream of twisted metal and a secondary explosion.

"Scratch one tin can!" The LCPL grinned under his polarized visor as he rotated his launcher's cradle and fished for another pair of rocket tubes.

Gunfire erupted as the tip of the fireteam engaged a Venomian security team rounding one of the refinery hangars.

The standard equipment of the Venomian Ground Forces consisted of a synthetic weave undersuit resistant to optical spectrum weaponry, with colors denoting their divison or brigade. Additional reinforcement bulked out the suit in key places, offering multi-layers of laser protection along the torso, shoulders and thighs. An armored chest piece and pauldrons were introduced as a defensive measure once Human kinetic weaponry began to show up in combat theaters. Sleek helmets with a single horizontal slit from which the soldiers' HUDs provided COMs, oxygen scrubbers and tertiary combat information were consolidated as a reliable piece of kit. While mass-produced, the VBU (Venomian Battle Uniform) was reliable for operating on a multitude of battlegrounds.

"Contact front! Suppressing!" PVT Whithers barked as he held his still-smoking BR-55 at the ready.

The ODSTs continued, even as a shrill alarm blared overhead, searchlights coming alive in the compound.

"Keep it tight, team. Charges in three, exfil in six." The steady voice of the Gunnery Sergeant spoke over the COM. Newly promoted, the veteran's conduct under fire spoke volumes of his experience.

Their window of opportunity was slim. A pelican dropship was already on a deceleration burn, and either they were getting picked up at the designated LZ, or they were enjoying the comforts of Venomian interrogators in a prison cell. Should the dropship survive the rendezvous and atmo climb, a UNSC ship in slingshot orbit would snatch their retrieval.

Red bolts split the air with ionized heat, as shouts echoed through the dim industrial yard. Kinetic rounds spit back, highlighted only by the muzzle flash and the pitter-patter of bullets like rain upon the durasteel structures.

PVT Grissom swore as his left pauldron was rocked back smoking by an errant bolt, the copper smell of blood accompanying it.

"Not as friggin' bad as plasma. Still burns like a bitch."

"Suck it up Gris!" Laughed CPL Fenton, even as he jammed a biofoam canister into the wound and sprayed it with haemostatic compound.

Their targets were strategic points along the fuel refinery's reserve storage. By setting enough charges along the fusion cell storage bays, the intent was to create a chain reaction and detonate a significant portion of the enemy's stockpile. It was a delaying action, and virtually suicide.

Naturally, the ODSTs had volunteered for the job.

"Waypoint One, Moving!" Called out PVT Whithers, the youngest of the fireteam. Sliding in alongside one of the gigantic armored fuel cells intended for starships, he withdrew a satchel charge from his pack and primed the detonator. The thirty seven meter tall fuel cells were intended to supply enough power in an array for a main reactor to function; The explosive yeild when triggered was not something the fireteam intended to witness up close and personal.

"Covering!" Both the GYSGT and LCPL provided defensive fire spread out behind support beams fifteen meters apart. Their MA5C and M7 SMG barked fire in unison, delaying the advance of multiple Venomian soldiers converging on their position. As the red bolts drew closer to their marks, the ODSTs were already moving to their next objective.

"Waypoint Two!" More charges, supplied by PVT Grissom, placed under the support struts of another fuel cell.

Along the top of his HUD, the Gunnery Sergeant glared at the rapidly dwindling countdown of their mission time.

"Pick up the pace team, the corps ain't paying us by the hour!"

The motion detectors were going haywire. Dozens upon dozens of red dots were converging on their position.

"Last charge!" Shouted Whithers, stumbling as a laser burned through his hip plating. Grissom grabbed his fellow PVT under the arm and hefted him back to his feet as they double-timed it to the LZ.

"Now comes the hard part," groused Fournier as he took up a defensive firing position alongside the GYSGT.

The fireteam was splayed out in a semi-circle. Prone, the ODSTs interwove their SMG and Assault Rifle fire, with LCPL Fournier hefting his 'Jackhammer' Rocket Launcher again when a Venomian APC hovered into range. The resulting concussive explosion bought them a little more breathing room from incoming fire.

"That's it for the 102mm Gunny!"

"Hold position." The response was emphasized by staccato rifle fire of 7.62x51mm shredder rounds spitting downrange at a trio of Venomians moving between cover towards their position.

The E-band lit up with another COM broadcast to each of the ODSTs helmets, "Whiskey 356, somebody order a pickup?"

Grins met the colonial drawl of the pilot under the polarized blue visors. Sure enough, Whiskey 356 didn't disappoint.

"About time you got here, stop for gas?" PVT Grissom called casually as he primed an HE grenade, lifting himself slightly off the dusty concrete to whip it towards the oncoming soldiers. The explosive report was accompanied by a pair of dismayed screams.

"Ah you know how it is, trooper. Had to outrun some flies."

'Flies' was UNSC slang for the Invader II starfighters that made up the bulk of the Venomian fighter wings. Had the pelican dropship not been on a beeline for his descent trajectory, he likely wouldn't have been able to outpace the fighters in-atmo.

"Stow the chatter, we're leaving." The curt order of the GYSGT had the troopers rise up and start running in pairs even as the pelican kicked up a dust storm to land. Clambering into the troop bay, Grissom took the mounted chain gun and began suppressive fire on the advancing Venomians, while the Gunny rose up from his prone position and ran aboard the dropship last of all.

"Punch it."

Engines still revving hot, the pelican lurched to an afterburner-assisted climb. Trailing laser fire and an errant rocket fired towards it's fuselage.

"Hold on tight gents," the accented pilot bit out as the turbulence increased, "Looks like those flies caught up after all."

Sure enough, the 'M' shaped chassis of two enemy starfighters came into view, blasting at the escaping dropship with their central mounted heavy laser cannons. The stubby pointed wings and teardrop engines contributed to the 'Flies' designation, but as the dropship rocked from an impact on the starboard side, the danger they posed was certainly not just a pest.

"Shit," Grissom swore, thumbing the safety on the retracted chaingun, "You want me to give it a shot Gunny?"

The fireteam leader shook his helmeted head impassively.

"Won't penetrate at this range. We'll make the rendezvous or we'll be slag."

CPL Fenton tilted his helmet at Fournier wryly.

"Now comes the hard part."

The ODSTs held tight, unable to do more than put their faith into their pilot. It was every ground pounder's anxiety: being at the mercy of whatever ship you were on hoping you'd get back to land somehow.

A second hit to the port side engine shuddered through the pelican's structure and caused a significant lurch. They could hear the pilot off-COM screaming profanity as he struggled to outpace the startfighters. PVT Whithers began a hushed prayer, clenching his fists.

The Gunnery Sergeant kept his eyes on the secondary countdown on his HUD.

"Showtime."

A lance of white cut through the atmosphere like a knife, bisecting one of the fighters into a spectacular explosion of durasteel and chaotic burning fuel. The other fighter panicked, and veered off course even as the contrail of the railgun round whisked off into the sky.

"Whiskey 356, this is Myrmidon Actual. Proceed to docking bay five for high orbit exfil." A calm female voice broadcast across the team's radio net, even as the pilot rose towards a growing blotch in the sky.

"Wilco Myrmidon Actual, Whiskey 356 on approach."

The pelican dropship cut through the diseased sky of Zoness, towards a bulwark in the clouds that billowed apart into the armored hull of a UNSC charon-class frigate. The gigantic 487 meter monolith carrying a Magnetic Accelerator Cannon, hundreds of personnel and twin fusion drive reactors wrapped in hundreds of tons of Titanium-A loomed overhead like an angry god, towards which the dropship pilot angled at the open vehicle bays. They were extremely high in the planet's atmosphere; So much so that the frigate was skimming a curtain of superheated fire while the dropship began to shudder violently as they approached the wake.

"Hang on to something gents!" came the voice of Whiskey 356's pilot.

The pelican swung into the trail of the UNSC frigate, and the ODSTs were suddenly dislodged in the troop bay.

"AHH FU-!" LCPL Fournier was cut off as he lifted out of his seat and crashed helmet first into the cargo netting above. The heavy weapons specialist could be heard swearing in his helmet even with his mic muted as he clambered back.

The dropship swung with a heavy yaw as it maneuvered into an open bay free of personnel, sparks flying as the landing struts groaned in protest at the awkward landing. The craft halted abruptly as the crash netting in the bay deployed, and the blast doors were already flying shut as the female CIC controller's voice came through once more.

"Bay secure. Welcome home boys, stand by for slipspace jump."

The dropship pilot killed the pelican's engine as the UNSC frigate Myrmidon lifted out of the ozone of Zoness, afterburn illuminating the sky in a brilliant crown of amber.

A second of weightlessness, and then the viewports shone with the undulating blue waves of Slipspace, the UNSC primary method of Faster than Light travel.

The ODSTs exhaled all as one.

"Another smash and dash job," Grissom mused as he rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, "How many delaying actions are they gonna dump on us?"

"Learn to enjoy the suck, private." CPL Fenton chuckled, rubbing his close shaved head where a laser bolt had left a rippling scar some weeks ago.

The pelican's intercom crackled to life.

"Red Group, this is the captain." A stern voice, somehow familiar to them among the templates of stoic Navy officer corps.

"Well done out there, I'd expect nothing less from helljumpers."

"Thank you sir." The GYSGT replied, removing his own helmet slowly.

"Report to deck 15, R95 for debriefing, and then get some chow and shuteye. Save for Gunnery Sergeant Jones," the captain paused with that dreadful hesitation all servicemen came to know, "I need to speak with you in my ready room."

Adrian Jones stared hollowly at the intercom speaker, feeling the world around him mute. He steeled his jaw, bracing himself for what came next.

"It's about your brother."

0925 Hours, Winter 7th, 1994 (Local Time) Corneria City, Lynx Family Residence

Abby was crying.

It was the kind of distress children exhibit when they're past needing attention and simply can't control their emotions anymore. Catherine held the kitten and rubbed her back soothingly, her own eyes bloodshot. Kyle held his arm around his wife on one hand, and his daughter Miyu on the other; She was staring glumly at the floor, past the point of tears.

They were in the waiting room of Pawbright Hospital, the nearest surgery capable medical center to the school. The ambulance had patched through the details of the blaster shot to the chest, and a MEDNET connection was established with the Human Embassy to cross check anatomical procedures on the fly. Logan had been rushed there and admitted to a secure ward while the surgery team began their oral triage report with the paramedics, and set about the groundbreaking task of saving an alien's life.

If that wasn't stressful enough, Wolf O'Donnell was in an adjacent room being treated for a blaster shot to the skull. Seeing the rough and tough lupine their gang had come to know with a bloody, burned socket in his head was almost too much to stomach.

Both of the boys were in dire straits. The danger of radiation burns from optical laser weaponry without armor to protect them put their internal organs at serious risk. Wolf had already lost an eye and it was unknown if he had any serious brain damage from the angle of how he was shot. Logan's left lung had already collapsed, and the doctors were racing to mitigate the damage.

The Lynx family sat quietly, but for Abby's hiccupping sobs. The rest of the gang wasn't admitted, save for Fara who managed to argue in favor of waiting for Wolf outside his ward. Falco had to be restrained as they were escorted out.

Catherine looked to her teenage daughter, burning a hole in the hospital floor.

"I still remember the face you made when I told you we applied for the host family draw."

Miyu made no reply. Catherine smiled to herself, remembering those months ago.

"Like a kitten forced to eat salad. Your father and I just thought it would be nice for you and Abby to experience having a brother."

She looked up at her husband, Kyle smiling through the ache with his glasses askew.

"We never could have imagined what he was like. That poor boy, always looking to help, always polite. You know he would wake up early on the weekends and mow the lawn?"

Kyle chuckled to himself, "He thanked me for putting up with him, you know. Like he was an inconvenience. I never would have thought."

Miyu bit her lip.

Catherine murmured on, "We started to notice how close you two got. Your personalities just fit together so well. You always were a spunky tomboy of a kitten, and he just flowed with you the way he was. Quiet, straight-laced, reliable."

Miyu didn't speak.

"I look forward to the mornings he gets up to cook breakfast, to seeing him walk Abby to her friend's house for her playdates, and to the two of you curled up in front of the TV," she added with a shaky laugh. Kyle squeezed his wife's shoulder, taking over for her with a gentle smile.

"We couldn't have asked for a better young man to be your boyfriend."

Miyu squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back into her father's arm. Her knuckles were white, fists clenched just wishing she could smash something, until the tension bled away and she let go.

"I want him back dad..." Her voice was quiet, wavering in the hospital waiting room.

"It'll be okay kitten," Kyle assured her, "We'll get him back."

The family sat together in the sterile waiting room, until the appearance of an orderly caught their attention.

"Mr and Mrs Lynx? The doctor said he's ready for visitors."

They rose together, and followed their escort with trepidation.

Cornerian medical technology beat the hell out of Humanity's emergency care by a long shot.

Logan kept his breathing deep and steady as the lights on the ceiling resolved themselves into focus. His chest was still sore, and there was the sensation of adhesive tugging at his skin on one side. The last of a dissolving protectant meant to shield his torso where the newly-knit skin and re-inflated lung were located. Something involving nanoparticles and organic weave...

A detached part of him observed one of the orderlies had been taking notes, as the experience had been a novel one for Corneria's medical community; The first alien procedure successfully completed with little notice. He was just glad the laser hadn't cooked off his internal organs.

He turned his head at the sound of the room's door cycling, and saw some familiar faces led in by the kind Border Collie orderly.

"Lo?" Miyu's blue eyes searched the pale boy's exhausted face, caught between wanting to rush towards him and caution.

The human boy pulled himself up in his cot, managing a small grin.

"Hey there beautiful."

That was all it took.

The tomboy crossed the distance between them, seizing his face and kissing him soundly.

The sensation of her little sandpaper tongue and the soft divots of her furry mouth were mesmerizing. Logan felt his eyes flutter as the familiar smell of her shampoo filled his head, and the sensation of her paw pads stroking his jawline almost set him back to sleep.

"Mmmfff-" Still, he couldn't help but remember his host family standing in the door. They broke off their reunion kiss, though Miyu was without a shred of embarrassment as she intertwined his fingers with hers.

"How are you feeling dear?" Catherine asked gently.

"I'll be just fine," his voice still had a rasp from the surgery, "Have you been a brave girl Abby?" He asked of the wide-eyed kitten held up by her mother.

The little Lynx nodded with her chin wobbling, before reaching out to him imploringly. Logan chuckled with some hitch in his breath and lifted his arms to accept the bundle of fur clambering up by his legs on the bed.

"Does it hurt?" Abby asked fearfully, probing at the myriad of bandages across his torso.

"Not at all, the doctors here are incredible."

"I was really s-scared big bro."

Logan's heart melted as he scratched behind Abby's twitching ears affectionately.

"I'm still here, it's okay."

The teenager couldn't help but feel his heart swell with his foster family around him. Kyle had brought him tupperware with a decent lunch, and Catherine busied herself securing his bedsheets to keep him snug. Miyu told him about what happened after he'd been shot, and what the state of the gang was now that Wolf was undergoing surgery as well.

"He'll be fine," Logan said, somehow just knowing, "He's too tough to let a blaster bolt to the head stop him."

They talked some more, before the door chimed again.

"Who the-" Miyu's annoyance was cut off sharply as she jumped to her feet in alarm.

A figure stood in the doorway.

Heavy gunmetal armor plating covered their body, under which matte black vacuum suit clung. Bulky, tall and dangerous looking in every regard, as if it had just stepped out of the frontlines with the smell of burnt ozone and carbon about it. An impassive polarized blue visor stared at them.

The hair on Miyu's neck stood up.

Holy Shit. How did he get in here?

The black armored thing looked horribly out of place in the hospital. Could it be the shooter come to finish the job? Her claws twitched, and she caught herself half-snarling between rushing the intruder, before she heard Logan laugh.

"I hope you didn't go AWOL for this bro."

The figure reached up and tugged off its bulky helmet.

"Had some shore leave to cash in."

His voice was rough, older, and yet somehow familiar.

The Lynx family was taken aback, as they saw an older version of Logan with close-shaved hair smile at them. Relief showing through the motions of his stocky body.

"Adrian Jones," the man said as both Kyle and Catherine settled down too, "I hear you've been looking after my brother very well."

"Oh goodness," Catherine clapped her paws, seeing the resemblance at last, "You're Logan's older sibling!"

"Yes ma'am. I managed some leave to come see if he was alright when I heard the news."

The feline wrung her paws, and then pulled up a chair.

"Come sit with us then, you must have been just as worried. Oh when I first heard from the police, let me tell you, I broke a plate in shock..."

The ODST placed his helmet on a side table, easing down to the chair. He met his brother's eyes as Catherine made him welcome.

Gone was the hollow stare that had been present since Tribute. Even after the surgery, Adrian could see the color in Logan's eyes come to life, and couldn't help but notice his fingers intertwined with the pretty teenage Lynx by his side.

The older sibling felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The guilt of being away on tour so long and neglecting his only remaining family had been a necessity, but now he saw that his little brother had found something worth living for.

They told stories. Logan chiming in with his time aboard starships in between Adrian's deployments, and the Helljumper with some of the more amusing mishaps he'd seen in the service.

The Lynx family began to relax around him, as much as one can when an alien in bulky armor stomps into a hospital room. He even lifted his helmet to let Abby drape it over herself like an umbrella.

It felt like a lifetime since he had seen his sibling, and the changes were obvious. Logan looked older already, but more alive if that made sense; Like some vital thirst had been quenched in his time with the Cornerians. The young man he saw now surrounded by furry foster parents and siblings caring for him bore little resemblance to the ragged survivor out of Earth's rubble.

Adrian settled in among Logan's foster family, and got a taste of home at last.