Torch the Midnight Oil

The call came in at 5:36 in the morning from a resident jogger on an early morning run. Having noticed a nauseating smell emanating from an alley on his usual route, the kat had decided to stick his head in and investigate. One minute later and a phone operator at the local precinct had received a panicked call. The feline had been nearly unintelligible on the line, but it was clear that there had been at least one fatality reported.

At 5:40 a patrol car had been routed to the location to investigate the claim, and arrived on site at 5:48. The officer, one Herek Lawson, contacted dispatch at 5:50, audibly alarmed, requesting support and a team from the crime scene services unit.

Detective Alec Ward arrived at exactly 6:01.

It was now (he glanced at his watch), 10:15, and he had not yet finished processing the scene. And that in itself was unusual, even for this town. Ward had been working Megakat for the past ten years, and he had seen a lot of things in that time, more so than even the usual depravity found in big urban developments. Working as a cop in a city with the highest crime rate in the nation was a lot of things, and pleasant was not usually one of them.

Today was turning out to be no exception.

Surprise… surprise.

As far as he could tell, there were six to seven bodies here in various states of… mutilation. It was honestly hard to discern what he was looking at, even after spending hours combing over the blood pools and scattered viscera. CSI had come in minutes after him with their high tech gear and fancy degrees, and they were just as slow on the uptake as he was, only about perhaps a third through with documentation. Considering the state of the victims, on-site identification was definitely off the table. There was no intact skull to examine, and Ward was not certain that even dental records would shed light on who these poor bastards were. In fact they were still trying to figure out what caused this, and seemed to be conflicted over whether it had been a large predator that had somehow wandered out of the forest, or if this was some kind of declaration of intent from a local gang. The presence of several varied weapons led credence to the latter hypothesis, but Ward was not so sure about that.

He had a lot of experience with gangs, and he had never seen anything like this.

The only thing that anyone could seem to agree on was that these were not ritualistic killings, and that all signs indicated the attacker, or attackers, were motivated by extreme rage. Judging from information gathered their methods were ferocious and possessed no inclination of higher thought, emulating all the signs of late stage psychosis. The most alarming realization however, was the immense physical strength depicted.

Ward glanced to the cracked alley wall to his left, a shiver trailing down his spine as he studied the bloodied imprint of a body pressed into the brick and mortar. One of the techs had calculated the force necessary to create such an impact crater, and factored it somewhere in the neighborhood of 1,325 to 1,560 pounds.

The detective was both impressed, and terrified.

That was roughly the same as the collision of a small sedan.

Ward doubted they'd be able to start a preliminary investigation. Most of the evidence was tainted by the scene itself, with the deliberate disfigurement and the grime of an inner city backstreet, they'd be lucky to even ID the bodies, let alone find the perpetrator.

He shook his head as he reached into his coat and slipped a cigarette from a pack of Lion Blues, balancing it between his teeth as he grabbed his lighter. The flicker of flames, followed by the comforting taste of tobacco and nicotine, ushered a sigh from his lungs as he followed the silvery trail of smoke with his eyes as it wandered upwards into the smoggy skyline of Megakat City.

Instincts earned from a decade of grueling police work warned him that this was the beginning of something much larger than it already appeared. An amused chuff worked its way out of his lips at that. With the luck the city's been having recently, he wouldn't be surprised if this was the introduction of another super criminal. And of all the things they didn't need right now, that was at the summit of a very large and imposing mountain.

There was a pressure in the very atmosphere of this town, a constant overbearing weight as the citizens waited helplessly for the next attack, looking up into the sky for the invisible anvil hanging above.

Ward wondered if this would be the thing to snap the rope.

She could smell the bitter sting of alcohol on his breath, and could see the wild gleam of narcotics in his eyes as he pounced on top of her. She struggled, but he was a giant compared to her small frame, and there were more males around him, grabbing onto her legs and arm, pinning her to the garbage littered concrete of the alley floor.

They were… they were going to…

Her heart thundered in her chest, pushing out the mutterings of the male atop her as she let out a scream. She could feel it. His…

"Brenna?"

She screamed for help, from the gods, from anyone that could save her from this, from what they were going to do to her. Her fur shivered as she felt his paw grab her chest roughly, instinctively recoiling in disgust at the animal atop her.

"Brenna!"

Her cries amplified as she felt her shirt rip, and a slimy sensation pooled in her stomach as she fully comprehend what was about to happen to her. Something dry and rough was stuffed into her jaws, muffling her outbursts, and her muzzle ached as it was split wide. She could see the hunger in the eyes of the male and his companions, and she knew in that moment that death would have been a kindness.

Then a gust of air blew across her and there was a shout of surprise, silenced by the powerful and loud crash of metal on brick. Hot wet fluid splashed over her eyes and she was blinded. But she could still hear the sounds of violence. More warm liquid spilled and she could scent the metallic fragrance of copper and something else that she had only ever smelled once before, distinct and unmistakable.

It was the odor of death.

The pressure on her limbs was removed violently, followed by cries of pain from the males who would have raped her. Her body worked on instinct, and she hurriedly scrambled away, her claws scratching against the concrete as she wildly scurried as far as she could until she felt the reassuring, protective sensation of a wall at her back.

She wiped a paw across her eyes to restore her vison, and only heard silence in the alley where there had once been only screams.

Blood, she was covered in it, her paw was more red than black, and she could feel the cooling viscera that covered her body, from the tips of her ears to the hand-me-down shoes on her feet.

She could taste it, the metallic tang of aged metal, comparable to the flavor of an old coin.

Gods… it was everywhere.

Her eyes flickered about, and everywhere she looked there was red. And the males… her stomach churned and she only just barely held back the urge to vomit as she kicked a severed paw away from her with a whimper.

They were all dead, but there was now someone else there with her.

She looked up, and saw him.

"BRENNA!"

The nightmare shattered, the shards of her daydream splintering and dissipating from her mind as someone shouted her name. Brenna looked down, to the untarnished blouse and long skirt she wore, and more importantly, at the distinct lack of blood and death. She eyed the nametag on her chest, and the black apron tied around her waist, and remembered where she was.

"S-Sorry Roark." She mumbled apologetically as she turned her attention to the dinner's cook, the male feline eyeing her with more concern than irritation, past the serving window separating the main floor from the kitchen.

The kat sighed and shook his head. "I don't know where your head takes you girl, but it certainly doesn't seem nice to me."

She could see the hunger in his eyes as he loomed above her.

"It's… not." She admitted, her fur bristling at the unwanted memory.

"Then you should probably focus on the present then eh?" Roark suggested as he pointed his spatula, dripping the grease, at the plate of food on the counter, and the four other orders that had piled up while she relived the horrors of the night before. "Here take that to table 4, and pick up the pace before the customers start to complain."

Quickly balancing the plate on her serving tray, she hurried to catch up with her orders and forced away the lingering dregs of fear that even now haunted her.

Brenna allowed herself to get lost into the work, for once finding comfort in the monotonous routine of her dead end job because it sure as hell beat remembering. Though that proved to be no easy task, every time a male customer smiled at her she had to bite back the automatic desire to fling her tray at him and bolt, and she was not certain what her boss would think if she screamed at every male that looked at her. But she pressed through, not because she wanted to prove something to herself, but because she had no other choice.

While serving tables wasn't lucrative, it certainly beat living on the street, and after the struggle she had just to get this job, she was very intent on keeping it for as long as she could.

Her shift passed, and when she managed to get through the entire day without relapsing, she considered that a small victory, and heaved a heavy sigh as she sat at the counter and counted her tips. Three one dollar bills, four fives, and a ten with a little smile face on its attached receipt. She smiled at that as she pocketed her earnings, remembering the kind male that had chatted with her. That had been a much needed reminder that not every one of them was a slavering rapist.

"Hey… you feeling better?" Roark's soft tenor made itself known as she looked up from the counter, watching as the cook slipped off his apron and fit his arms into his jacket.

"Yeah…" She nodded timidly, not wanting to think too hard and fall back into the memories.

"I'm alright now."

Roark eyed her carefully before he nodded, not entirely satisfied, but at the least relieved. "Alright then, I hate seeing you like that Bren." He admitted with a frown, allowing himself to use her nickname now that their shifts were over. Their boss, a rather crotchety old feline, liked to keep a tight ship at the dinner, and it was only after work that they could act more pleasantly.

Brenna smiled at his concern. Roark, for all his gruffness, acted more like the father she wished she could remember, than a coworker. "I'm not much a fan of it either." She muttered with a roll of her eyes."

The male harrumphed, before he eyed her uncertainly. "You… wanna talk about it?"

"No." She denied his offer in a way that was perhaps a little too harsh, but she had no desire to speak about it. "Maybe… maybe some other time." She relented upon seeing his concern deepen. "I think I'd just like to go home now."

She looked to him hopefully. "Could you give me a ride back? I… don't really feel like walking tonight."

He smiled kindly. "Of course, Bren."

She watched as Roark's truck disappeared around the street corner, a small smile lingering on her lips. He was good people, but he couldn't help her. Since she had left that bloodbath without calling the Enforcers, (because honestly she had no idea what she would have said), they couldn't help her either, not that she thought they could have. But that didn't matter… someone had already done that for them.

Brenna turned away from the street and eyed the worn down apartment building she called home, with reluctant disdain. The appliances and decor were at least a decade out of date, and most of the other tenants were loud and disruptive, but it was cheap, and the owner was a nice old lady who was lenient on rent if she was having a particularly bad month.

She entered the building, noting again the yellowed walls of the foyer and the occasional piece of forgotten trash on the floor as she walked towards her apartment. It wasn't that far since it was on the first floor, and she was standing in front of her door and fishing for her keys within a minute.

Her paw digging through her purse, she searched past her cosmetics and the little mint candies she liked, until her paw wrapped around something hard and metallic. Extracting the copper colored steel, she inserted the key into the lock and twisted. The mechanism inside the door gave way easily enough, but the door itself… not so much.

With a grunt of exertion, she pushed her shoulder into the wood and on her second try it actually budged open enough for her to awkwardly slide her way inside, though she let out a muttered hiss when her elbow banged against the frame. Now on the other end of the irritating barrier, after pressing her full weight against the other side, she managed to close it with minimal effort.

Quietly muttering to herself for the hundredth time about how she really was going to contact the building super one of these days, she kicked her shoes off, watching the cheap synthetic leather bounce against the wall and clatter to the floor before making her way deeper inside.

Her stomach growling as it always did when she finally came back home after a long grueling day waiting tables, she traveled down the short hall leading deeper into her apartment and turned left at the intersection that transitioned into her tiny kitchenette.

Her paws hit the tile with a clatter, the claws on her toes clacking loudly against the surfaced laminate as she moved to the cabinet and popped it open. Rifling through cans and cardboard boxes, she found her dinner. Setting the tin of tuna and the small package of instant rice onto the ceramic countertop, Brenna disappointedly eyed the rather subpar meal.

She sighed.

There was some truth to those jokes about living on one's own.

The feline bent down and grabbed a small pan from the lower cupboard, rising to stand, she soon caught something out of the corner of her vision.

She froze in place, a jolt of irrational fear emerging explosively from inside her, flashes of last night running through her mind as the muscles in her legs primed, ready to bolt out into the hall and out the door. Then she remembered there was a reason she was not alone in the apartment, and her unease settled.

Brushing a paw across her arm to pat down the fur that had risen up in her panic, she turned around and smiled hesitantly. "Good evening." She greeted the hulking armored figure, the black faceplate directed at her the only indication that he was looking in her direction.

The uncertainty of her smile lessened when he returned her address with a careful nod, the strange metallic fiber around his throat twisting and bunching together as his head ducked low with a polite deference. Although her nervousness was unaffected, she felt her fear dissipate as she stared at the giant male in black armor, which was unusual since she knew nothing about him.

Well she did know one thing at least.

Whatever he was, he had saved her from… something she would rather not think about. Brenna had nearly forgotten he was here in all honestly, after last night, and with work in the morning despite her exhaustion and trauma, she didn't remember much of what happened.

Now however, some things were starting to come back to her.

Having been nearly violated by a gang of thugs, she had not perhaps been entirely in the right state of mind and he had asked him to walk her home. The traumatizing experience had left her feeling distinctly vulnerable, and after the mysterious male had come to her rescue, admittedly in a way that resulted in an unforgettable and violent bloodbath, he made her feel… safe. Despite what he had done, such thoughtless brutality that only amplified the unnatural intimidation that exuded from his silent hulking figure, she was not afraid of him.

Rationally, any fear would be nonsensical.

How could she be afraid of the one that had saved her?

Brenna had initially extended her request in a moment of personal weakness, and by the time she realized what she had asked him, and the utter absurdity of her request, he had responded. And for whatever reason his reply was a nod, one that was starting to become increasingly familiar. Apparently it was his preferred method of communication.

He did not speak, for what reason she did not know. He seemed to understand her well enough when she spoke, but he was either incapable of verbally responding, or chose not to. But that was hardly a concern when she did not even know what he was. She had first thought that maybe he was with the Enforcers, but with his appearance, his weapons and armor, it was logical to assume instead that he had some ties with the military. She had not heard of any technology that matched the armor he wore and the weapons he had on his back, but she could easily reason that it was tech the army did not want to become public.

But that line of logic only brought more questions.

If he was with the military, what had he been doing in some random backstreet in Megakat City? She was of course immensely grateful that he had been there; gods forbid she had no idea where she would be now if not for him.

In the end, Brenna decided not to question her luck too closely. For whatever reason he had not left after returning her home, and she vaguely remembered watching him clean his armor in the bathroom before shuffling off to sleep in an exhausted daze and an upturned stomach.

And while everything about this situation utterly confounded her, at the moment she had no desire to see him go.

"Hungry?" She asked, shaking the pack of rice questioningly. The kernels inside the package rattled loudly as she looked to him curiously.

Brenna watched as the male slowly shook his head in the negative and retreated back into the shadows of her unlit living room. Her eyes followed him as he left, studying the body-hugging facets of his inner suit layer as it contorted snugly with his movement, and the feline began to think that maybe he did not belong to any organization she was aware of.

There was something… otherworldly about him.

Felina stared through the rolling credits on her television screen, her mind far away from the monster movie that had been livening up her otherwise silent apartment for the past two hours. She hardly even remembered the plot, some uninspired drivel about a lizard reacting violently to atomic testing. Apparently it was a fairly popular film overseas, and she was probably not giving it much credit. But after having chased a living breathing dinosaur through the heart of Megakat City, she supposed it'd be fair to admit that her opinion may have been colored by personal experience.

The feline sighed, a long and drawn out sound as she rolled off her couch and onto the floor with an annoyed grumble. She felt a cord of muscle twinge in her back when she made contact with the tasteless ruddy carpet that had plagued her fashionable eye for years, and Felina remembered where exactly it was that pain came from.

Not that she could really forget being imprisoned by an alien from outer space.

Those kinds of things tended to stick you.

She would never forget that obsidian death mask he wore for a face, or the gritty, emotionless cadence of his voice as he stood on the precipice of murder. His similarity to the feline form was the only thing that seemed to make sense about him. Her Uncle had agreed with her unspoken conjecture that he was some kind of soldier, she could hardly imagine a species that would equip its explores with such high grade equipment, or allow such a combative mentality.

At the moment he held Dr. Main, contemplating on whether or not to pull the trigger and splatter his brains across the warehouse wall she could almost feel his indecision. She could envision that every fiber of his being was adamantly intent on pulling the trigger… but he did not.

He left not soon after, with an almost dismissive indifference.

And in that moment she could have sworn there were two people inside that armor.

Felina stared up into the ceiling, at the whitewashed plaster above her, and wished beyond anything to have been able to know what he had been thinking as he left. She tried to imagine herself in his shoes, or rather armor plated boots, she supposed with a quiet chuckle. What was it like to be so utterly alone, to be separated from not only her family and friends, but all of katkind? What was it like to feel hunted by an entire planet?

What would she be willing to do to get home?

She thought hard on those questions for a long time, her body sinking ever so slightly into the carpet as she lay distended out on the floor like a poorly imitated form of a tacky throw rug, and contemplated the immensity of such ponderings. Across from her the television rumbled loudly to itself, cycling endlessly through the title screen's audio as she considered something that had grabbed her attention far better than any movie could ever hope to match.

Felina could only think and wonder what he was doing right at this moment. Was he huddled up in some back alley, evading the capture he must all but be expecting? Was he at that second studying his dwindling supplies and wondering how in the hells he was going to survive this? Was he… was he planning on a way to retaliate against a perceived threat? Was he preparing to make a counterattack?

So many important questions, all without satisfying answers.

Suddenly the idea of spending a few days lounging about her home did not seem an optimal use of her free time.

Slowly rolling to her feet and stretching out the kink in her back, Felina walked around her couch and exited the living room. Her journey was one motivated by intent to be productive, and she soon found herself in the spare room she turned into a place she could work from outside of her office at the precinct. She sat in the chair and booted up the computer, listening as the internal fans spooled up and watching as the monitor lit up with the bright blue radiance of her operating system.

She waited a minute for the action to complete before inputting her password at the prompt screen, and after her desktop came into view, she wasted no time in pulling up a new document to work on.

Felina stared thoughtfully at the blank white page, empty and waiting to be filled. And after a brief thought her claws rattled loudly against the keys as she titled it Facts and Theories.

He's tall, at least seven or eight feet.

Wears heavy armor, advanced, unusually bulky in appearance… powered?

Can communicate in local language. Learned or result of inherent similarities?

Possesses enormous physical strength. Usual for species?

Appears wholly willing to kill to ensure own survival or to secure secrets, but seems willing to utilize non-lethal methods.

There was a brief interim of silence as she examined her notes, and Felina growled in frustration at the content that would not even fill an eighth of a page. There was just too little fact and far too much conjecture considering the importance of her upcoming task. She was supposed to find a way to bring this guy in that would not result in multiple fatalities, and at the moment she couldn't think of a single method to achieve that goal.

He was well equipped, unbelievably strong, and benefited from an intense acumen of training and experience that a cop like her could not hope to match. She was an officer of peace, he was a soldier trained to kill, and seemed to have no compunction to do what he perceived as necessary.

And yet he had spared her…

A paw brushed across her muzzle and she sighed heavily into the pad of her palm. Felina had never met with failure before, nothing as burning and unforgettable as what happened at Megakat R&D. Whatever the situation she had always been able to find a way out of it using her own wit and skill.

And the alien soldier had effortlessly shown her how unserviceable her skill was in the face of otherworldly might. She'd been helpless before him, thoroughly disarmed and reduced to an indigent captive at the mercy of his whims. He was, in every definition of the word, superior. He was stronger, faster, quieter, smarter… taller, whatever word she had in her arsenal his had a glaring –er tagged at the end.

Truth of the matter was, she had no idea what she was dealing with here. And as difficult as her task would be, that didn't matter. Lives were on the line. So far information on what exactly they were dealing with had been put on stranglehold. There were only a few people currently aware of the truth and if that number increased, what was already a dangerous situation would burst into a blistering fireball of panic and paranoia that had the potential to cause incalculable damage.

And she was supposed to be the stopgap.

More than that she had wanted this job!

Felina sighed once more.

If she could find him quickly enough, if she could convince him that his best option was to come with her, then she could stop the worst from happening, and help someone who was undoubtedly lost and scared.

As she stared at her computer screen, at the paltry data she had been able to assemble, she desperately tried not to think about the question that was itching so incessantly at the back of her thoughts.

If he was here, where was the rest of his kind?

Life had taken an interesting turn for Brenna, and she was not quite sure what to feel about the unexpected changes. The strange male, The Black Knight, as she had taken to calling him, almost affectionately, as a result of his indistinctly feudal panoply and the burned black coloration of his suit of armor, had been a guest at her home for several days.

As such her apartment had taken an unusual atmosphere, almost pleasant she would admit. Ever since she'd been kicked out of the orphanage at eighteen she'd been living on her own. And considering that had been three or so years ago, that was a very long time to be without companionship. So, as unusual as he was, he remained a somewhat positive force of change.

He was a lot like the character from the storybook she had read through relentlessly in her childhood boredom. Neither of them spoke, they were both large and wore similar suits, although the living legend in this case featured a more modernistic display, and they even shared some traits.

The black knight in the story wasn't like the usual protagonists of children novels, more of an anti-hero now that she thought about it with the clarity of maturity that sharpened the idealistic haze of her younger years. He consistently appeared as a spirit of vengeance in more than a few iterations, an armored ethereal kat that dolled harsh judgment upon evil ne'er-do-wells.

And in that way both her initially unintended boarder and his fantastical equivalent were unquestionably alike.

Brenna looked up from the magazine in her lap, soft blue eyes studying the silent figure of her houseguest as he loomed somewhat ominously in the corner. Even resting on a knee he cut an imposing physique, and she had not yet grown accustomed to his incredible height.

She supposed it should be weird, that even days later she had not actually spoken with him, but… for some reason, that did not really bother her. His was a calming presence, a figment of sustaining company that she had not known she needed so desperately.

Brenna often wondered what it was he looked like underneath his helmet. She imagined an aristocratic feline, with a hard jaw like sculpted marble, piercing eyes of dark viridian and a striped completion like the large native kats from a faraway jungle continent. He certainly seemed to carry the striking build of the classical interpretation of a heroic figure of storied fables.

There definitely was little effort to hide his physique in that figure-hugging suit of armor. If anything all it did was dramatically emphasize just how… well-developed he was.

Yes he was very… masculine.

Brenna's ear twitched, and the young feline crossed her legs and tore her attention away from the large male across from her, studiously returning her focus to her magazine in an attempt to curtail the bubbling sensation inside her.

She was surprised that she could still feel that impulse after the incident in the alley. Brenna had thought that such desires would have been suitably inhibited by fear of anyone possessing the extra appendage granted to those bearing the x and y chromosomes.

She could, at this very moment, confirm that no such reluctance existed, at least not for him.

The young kat blushed in embarrassment at having such a reaction to a male whose face she had not even seen yet. How childish she must be to succumb to such obvious truism. Enter hero A who rescues damsel B, B falls for A, roll credits. It was a familiar formula that would sell tickets for as long as there were young impressionable girls in the world with airy beliefs in the simple sanctity of romance, and thus the cycle would perpetuate till the end of time.

Brenna snorted, half laugh, half bitter growl, as she sunk further into the couch and ruminated on her thoughts.

Meanwhile, her savior and unexpected tenant, studied her from behind an impenetrable faceplate of solid onyx.

Six was… perplexed.

The spartan's calculative gaze lingered on the unusual black feline that listlessly ranged her eyes across an uninteresting publication of pointless social intrigue and irreverent gossip, clearly apathetic with its driveled contents, and yet she still persisted.

This was why he would never understand the civilian sector. Alien or otherwise they utterly mystified him with their inexplicable interests. It was almost fascinating enough for him to forget the questionable condition of his current stability, although admittedly, his interest might have also been a subconscious whim to remain ignorant of the seriousness of his predicament.

He did not know why this Brenna seemed willing to let him stay at her residence, but he had as of yet found a solid reason to spurn her polite tending. He had little to no resources at his personal disposal, and after losing his last secure location at the hand of imprudent caprice, he considered his current position as somewhat of a small placation to soothe his ire at a series of rash decisions.

He was not sure why, but he did not feel threatened by the possibility that she would oust him to the local authorities. Something inside him seemed to believe in the opposite of such familiar pessimism. He could not explain this incomprehensible belief, but when he looked into her eyes, at two pools of sterling sapphire, he was... set at ease.

Seeing as days passed and a squad of police officers in heavy armor had not breached the doors and windows with the intent to storm the apartment, he felt his tenuous placement of trust had been vindicated.

The prolonged period of safe harbor had given him time to dwell on his current situation, and amidst his network research and growing data stores on relevant interests, he had pondered long and frequently on what his next move would be.

And for all his learned tactical acumen and extensive training for the wildest of scenarios, he drew up blanks. The only UNSC technology left on this planet was currently adhered to his body, and thus secure from tampering. The wreck of his sabre was safely removed from alien hands… paws... various grasping appendages, and he was currently out of reach from those who might be hunting him.

He was also without a doubt stranded upon this world and had little to no memory of what it was that had led him here other than faint recollections of fire and an irritating headache when he tried to discern more than that.

Frustration was paramount amongst his circulating emotions. He did not appreciate the current aimless trajectory his meteoric life of constant conflict had taken. This was the first time in his life he did not have a clear and present plan. ONI had seen to it that he would always have something to do, assassination or retrieval, whatever task they had set out for him. He could always rely on his superiors to have his next set of orders when he contacted them after an operation.

Now he was on his own, and there were no more orders trickling in.

Find a way back. Six thought to himself.

That was a plan…

Wasn't it?

Four simple words that disguised an inestimably complicated directive. It was hard to find a way back when he didn't even know where the hell he was. Was he still even in the Milky Way? Or had something catapulted him into the infinite cosmos?

No. He had to believe there was a way. Somehow he would find a means to get off this planet of felinoid aliens. He had to stop the Covenant. He had to save humanity. He had skills that were needed, skills that made him valuable, made him… wanted.

Six needed to get back home, to the people that needed him, that gave his life purpose. He had to return to use the skills that validated everything that had happened to him. He had to have his vengeance for his mother, his father, and all the brothers and sisters he had lost to those bastard abominations.

"Hey you… you hungry?"

Soft words, spoken in tentative benevolence, infringed upon his enflamed thoughts, their gentle kindness extinguishing the raging fires that ran rampart across his mind. Order returned to his scattered focus, and once again he was able to smother his rising emotion behind the iron walls of his discipline.

His lips twisted, distorting into an expression that could have been anything from hateful disdain, to silent gratitude.

The spartan looked away from the muted luminosity of his TACPAD's holographic emitter, disregarding the material he had been subliminally compiling as his thoughts wandered.

Brenna wore a kind smile as she looked upon him, her magazine forgotten as she focused only upon him, and again he wondered at her mysterious benevolence and blind acceptance of his existence. Six did not understand why she tolerated his presence, or seemed to have any consideration for him. He may have believed her magnanimity merely a façade that veiled some hidden nefarious agenda, but it appeared utterly genuine.

Since he had lived in her home for the past few days she had not asked an explanation for why he was here, or even what he was. She did not even question why he did not verbally communicate. The feline alien, for a reason beyond his comprehension, simply… accepted him.

The spartan shook his head negatively in reply to her prompt. While the plain meal of seasoned fish and buttered rice she cooked every night was undoubtedly superior to his dwindling supplies of MRE's, he had yet to accept her offer. While she spared no adverse thought in allowing his tenure here to continue, he had no desire to press his luck. He found her compassionate cooperation… amiable, and anything that might threaten his position was to be strictly avoided.

Revealing his human features underneath his helmet would undoubtedly clue her in on what he really was. And as he had nowhere else to go, that would be unacceptable.

"Alright then." She reacted to his silent answer with the unshakable munificence that he had yet to see be challenged by his incompatible disposition. And the spartan watched intently as she rose from her cushioned seat and entered the rather small confines of her apartment's kitchen.

Six considered the act of socialization nothing more than a waste of time when weighed against the mounting importance of his responsibilities; a distraction that could not be afforded at the expanse of his diligence in humanity's protection.

But as Brenna maneuvered about, the sounds and smells of cooking filling the apartment as she set to work preparing her dinner, he felt an unfathomable sense of confusion. Kneeling in the corner of her living room and peering into a scene of domestic life, offered him a unique perception, as if he was looking through a window that separated him from something… important, something he had been missing. There was a strange desire that simmered inside him, a longing to express himself… to speak out, to interact with someone that did not instinctively view him with suspicion or hate.

And Noble Six was baffled to realize that for whatever reason, no doubt one that was absolutely foolish… he yearned for the companionship of the woman before his eyes.

Why? He asked himself.

What was it about her that he found so attractive?

Was it her kindness?

Was it her smile?

Was it the disarming incorruptibility of her pale blue eyes?

Six knew what attraction was, and possessed a moderate understating of the concept of romance. He could appreciate fine art and admire beauty in the natural world, and he understood the appeal of sexual interaction beyond the need for genetic propagation. But as a spartan, as a man tasked with the preservation of all mankind, he had little reason to satiate such unnecessary urges.

Responsibility before craving, duty above desire. Those were the tenets he lived by, what made the austerity of his life bearable.

And he had to wonder if it was his loneliness that made him feel such a way. Friends to him were few and far between, those who deserved the term were dead, he knew that much even with his tattered retention of raged memory.

He might not remember all that happened on Reach, but he did remember the end, the package and the sacrifices made to secure it. And he knew the likes of himself and Noble Team would be forgotten.

Such was the way of the world.

Six returned his attention to Brenna, watching as she worked and eavesdropping as she hummed a tune to herself, a pleasant hymn that tickled faint recollections of his childhood so long ago. She had a beautiful singing voice, as soft and pliant as velvet and haunting in its allure.

The spartan closed his eyes and listened to the harmonic sound of Brenna's purring, allowing himself to temporarily waive all of his worries and obligations. He focused carefully on the fragile memoires of his youth, of his family and the pleasant and quiet life he once had on a small colony called Jericho VII.

Six reminisced, of a time and place where he felt well and truly happy, where he had been loved by a mother and father, and so many more.

Brenna looked over her shoulder, at the armored male resting against the apartment wall, the chin of his helmet tucked gently against his breastplate as he slept soundly.

And she smiled.

AN: A somewhat less intense chapter, created more to fluff up the world building and emphasize just how different this Noble Six is to his other iteration. He has more memories about his past, and still feels a connection with his family that offers him more opportunity to feel human. He understands a lot more too, although that does not mean that understating comes easily. Ah yes... is our spartan feeling the beginnings of an attachment with the unusual feline he saved? Is the poor man overwhelmed by something so simple as positive reinforcement? Will events spiral out of control and tumble into chaos?

Tune in next time to find out!

I was, and still am, quite humbled by the overwhelmingly positive response for this so far, and that helped quite a bit in crushing my writer's block and allowing me to type this out rather quickly. Still working on getting the next Legacy chapter out, and hopefully we can expect it to be published within a week.

Keep the faith!

Drake