0303 hours, July 18, 2554 (Military Calendar) \ Uncharted System, Twenty miles Northeast of wreckage of UNSC Dropship Some Like it Hot, on the surface of the Unknown World

Thunder rumbled overhead, booming across the desolate, windswept and rainsoaked landscape, as if laughing at the futile mission of the two UNSC scouts who now made their way up a steep, muddy hill. Their boots sank inches into the ground with every step, and above the howling wind their occasional curses could be heard, as they stumbled and fell.

Corporal MacGuire, second class, swore as he dislodged his foot, but succeeded only in loosing his balance. Tumbling several feet down the hill, he landed visor-down in the mud, and took a moment to mutter several choice explicatives under his breath before hoisting fhimself up. Wiping the muck from his helmet as best he could, he turned to see his companion already ahead of him once again. Gripping his sniper rifle, which he had conspired to keep absolutely spotless, he doubled-timed it up the slope before drawing alongside his superior.

Sergeant Fox spared his winded companion a brief glance, then merely shook his head, shoulders slouching. Pressing on, the reached the crest of the hill, their efforts rewarded with nothing ahead but an equally treacherous descent. The gloom proved too thick for their eyes to see more than thirty feet ahead, and the rain played hell with their night vision. But they had orders from the Lieutenant: scout out the terrain, find the structure, investigate, report back.

But at the moment, the sergeant suspected his corporal was all for hauling ass back to base, where at least there would be a roof over their heads, and maybe some rations.

Fox, however, understood the importance of this job. It might pay to turn back now, and report that they hadn't found anything, but where would that leave them? All they had was a damaged Pelican for shelter, and the field rations wouldn't last forever.

No, their only chance was to find the installation Grif has spotted during their descent, and hope that there was some sort of method of hailing the Vanguard from inside.

"Sarge, I don't know about you, but maybe we should turn back. We haven't seen anything, and I swear to you if it rains for another minute or so we'll drown."

Fox's response was swift and final. "Stow it, Corporal. We've got a job to do."

There was a grumbled reply of "Yessir," but the sergeant understood the Marine's frustration. Hours out in the cold and the rain weren't exactly the cure-all for morale. What was worse, not finding anything spelled certain doom for the rest of their party, which was absolutely unacceptable. Placing his eye to the scope of his rifle, the sergeant grimly reconnoitered the terrain ahead, with minimal success.

All they knew for certain was that, somewhere in the miles ahead, there was some sort of structure. That was it. But whatever it was, they had to find it. The team had no other leads, and zero hopes of survival without immediate shelter and assistance.

The assistance would come later. Oh yes it would. Once contact was made between the ground team and the Vanguard, things would most certainly turn in their favor. Cortana had told them that the EMP had originated from within the planet's technological core. Whatever fancy gizmos the Forerunners had put down there were generating the field that kept them imprisoned, but Fox knew just the prescription for that problem: take two tanks and call me in the morning.

But shelter was more important now. The wounded couldn't get proper treatment in the rain, and the medics refused to perform field surgery without stable cover. Once the job began, there'd be no moving until the injured were all stitched up.

With a low curse, he let his arms slacken. Lightning flashed overhead, briefly bathing the whole craggy valley in absolute, white light. The sergeant had just been looking forward to the unhappy task of informing the corporal that their wet evening stroll had only just begun, when the later spoke up enthusiastically.

"Sir!" he called, gesturing for the sergeant to join him. Fox stumbled over as swiftly as possible, ready to chew out the noncom if he so much as whimpered that his boots were muddy.

But MacGuire was all smiles. "Look, sir!" He pointed directly ahead, into the darkness. Fox spared a perplexed glance that way, brow furrowed in confusion, not understanding. For a minute he stood there, standing stock-still like an idiot, before finally giving up.

"I don't see anything, Corporal—" he began, feeling rather flustered, before being rudely interrupted by the now ecstatic Marine.

"Just wait for it!"

Fox was just taking a breath to bawl at MacGuire, but not before another flash of lightning illuminated the canyon. There, maybe a mile ahead, a low structure. Probably metal, by the way it shone in the light. His keen scout's eyes picked out that little detail in an instant, and his heart leaped at the sight. It was small, but impossible to miss against the dreary gray of the rest of the valley.

"Holy hell!" Fox exclaimed, bringing his rifle back up to eye-level. He waited, but not for long. Yes, there it was, a small bunker-type building, nestled between several large hills. That was it! A wide grin on his tired face, the sergeant clapped the corporal on the shoulder, bellowing "Well done, kid! The Lieutenant's going to be happy as all hell to hear this!"

It took him a moment to realize his friendly gesture had sent MacGuire tumbling. Not bothering to prize the scout from the muddy grave into which he'd sent him, Fox opened the COMM channel. Pressing a finger to the side of his helmet, he listened for a moment intently as the signal was established, but was promptly rewarded with static. Damn.

Repeated attempts to hail the base yielded no better results, and Fox was at a loss for what to do. Finally, as MacGuire pulled himself out of the muck with a wet shlop!, the sergeant shook his head in the affirmative, as if to himself.

"Christ," he sounded out to his companion, who mutely tried to brush the caked-on layer of soil in vain, "We can't raise Hometeam." This was met with a rousing chorus of curses, all of them foul enough to make a sailor blush. He went on, waving his hands in a subdued manner in order to calm his comrade. "We have no other choice but to keep moving, scout out the structure."

As MacGuire dutifully voiced his opinion on the matter, Fox overrode him, shouting him down while deciding not to court-marshal the boy for the series of hand gestures he'd given him. "There's no use bellyaching about it!" he bellowed, already strutting down the hillside. "We can't get through to the Lieutenant, so we'll move ahead, find out what's what, and then haul ass back to base."

MacGuire made no answer, only sulked quietly, which annoyed the sergeant more than the boy's insolence. "Am I clear, Corporal, or did someone say Private?"

That sure as hell straightened him out.

They made off into the darkness together, weapons raised as they continued their struggle through the endless marsh.

*****

0350 hours, July 18, 2554 (Military Calendar) \ Uncharted System, Twenty-two miles Northeast of wreckage of UNSC Dropship Some Like it Hot, on the surface of the Unknown World

The rain pounded heavily on the soil, running down the hillsides and turning the little valley they trekked through into a proverbial river. Fighting against a nasty current as rainwater rushed downhill, bringing with it mud and tree branches and what-not, the two UNSC scouts lamented, not for the first time, their unfortunate lot in life.

Thunder continued to rumble, but its boom had long since become so much dull noise to their numbed ears. Communicating via a series of flailing hand gestures (some of them rather desperate attempts to regain their balance as another rush of water came coursing down), Sergeant Fox and Corporal MacGuire continued their ongoing battle against the storm.

Ahead, the hill continued to rise, before rounding off and curving out of view. It was damned steep, but they'd seen worse.

Clambering with all the coordination of a spider on rollerskates, MacGuire hauled himself over the hill's crest, before rolling onto his back to catch his breath. The angry bark of an aggravated sergeant brought him back to his senses, and he quickly offered his hand to pull Fox up. They'd long since given up trying to remain clean. MacGuire could barely see through his filth-stained visor, and Fox could've sworn there was a fish in his boot, but that was probably just his imagination.

After several gasping breaths, the corporal found the strength to look up from his resting place, and saw it.

The bunker.

A large, cavelike mouth yawned before them, an awning branching over its lip to keep the rain from flooding the place. With a cry of joy, the duo quickly rose and, after professionally inspecting the path ahead with their rifles, gladly came in from the rain.

It was dark, and surprisingly hot, considering the place was constructed entirely of some alien metal. It almost glowed with a strange, bluish light, and seemed to have been constructed beautifully. Metal bulkheads dotted both sides of the corridor, seamlessly fused to the walls. The path descended at a steep angle, but after their night's hiking, it seemed like nothing to the two ODSTs.

Nevertheless, they didn't let their guards down, weapons raised, they advanced slowly and carefully, eyes trained ahead at all times, with MacGuire repeatedly checking their rear.

Fox took point, stowing his sniper and extracting an assault rifle with practiced ease. At close-quarters, the sniper would do him no good. He wasn't a Spartan, after all. Weapons at the ready, the sergeant led the duo further into the depths of the structure. The ramp seemed to continue down at the same precipitous angle, on and on until the entryway was a dwindling speck in the distance. The shaft cut straight into the earth, unbroken, unwavering.

MacGuire felt a sense of claustraphobia set in, as the walls seemed to tighten. Indeed, upon close inspection they found that the corridor was growing smaller, but with still two feet over their heads, the scouts pressed on.

Outside light was almost nonexistent here, and now Fox was certain the walls were glowing. It was a strange phenomenon, a ghostly blue sparkle at the corner of his vision, but upon gazing at it directly, the metal appeared to be just that— metal.

Training himself to ignore the eerie lighting, the sergeant had just decided to halt their advance for a while, to get their bearings, when the path downward abruptly halted. His foot meeting with level ground in the darkness, Fox experienced the startling sensation of his stomach dropping, as he had not expected to encounter resistence there.

Glancing over his shoulder, he received an affirmatory nod from his companion, who stood not two feet behind him. Ahead, the tunnel continued, straight on, seemingly forever.

He'd lost track of how long they'd been walking, but his mission clock read 0658. Over three hours! Without any discernable change in daylight, and without an end to the interminable oppression of the tunnel, Fox was certain they'd been walking for an hour or so.

This wasn't good. Why would the builders of this place construct a shaft to nowhere? Shaking his head, he coughed once, the sound echoing up along the passage unsettlingly.

Pressing on, the clamor of their feet resonating around them, Fox once again fell into the monontonous rhythm of their pacing, but now noticed something else. Their tunnel was now punctuated every hundred feet or so by a side passage, a sharp left or right into the gloom. Unwilling to explore the most likely unending maze of hallways and corridors, Fox spoke low to his partner, so as to avoid any echoes. "We're staying on the main path. No sense getting ourselves lost here."

MacGuire couldn't argue with that thinking, mutting a quiet, "Yes, sir," before silently following suit.

The darkness pressed in, thick, almost tangible. Dialing up their night vision to its highest setting, Fox was startled to see the path terminate fifty feet down the passage, as it curved sharply to the right.

With a hurried signal over his shoulder, the sergeant double-timed it to the turn, excited, but still fully expecting to find yet more endless night.

What he got was an eyeful of pain, as he turned to corridor to emerge into searing, white light. His cry of discomfort as he shielded his eyes with a raised gauntlet brought the corporal running, but he signalled the boy to stand down.

After giving a moment for both his eyes and his visor to adjust to the change in brightness, the sergeant staggered forward, bewildered. A great, cavernous chamber had exploded from the cramped confinement of the tunnel, and looking back the sergeant saw it as nothing more than an average-sized break in the wall. Similar doors dotted the chamber, and Fox imagined similar tunnels extending in all directions for miles and miles.

And they all led here. But why? The white light seemed to emanate from nowhere in particular, but rather from all around, from every surface in the chamber. The spotless, pure white of the floor and walls would have made fresh snow seem filthy, and it gave the alien place a sense of sterility, of cleanliness.

Advancing carefully, weapons raised, the sergeant signalled for MacGuire to stick close. On both sides the doors, frighteningly dark against the pure white of the room, stood agape, black maws ready to swallow them whole.

Their footsteps ringing on the floor, MacGuire was just feeling guilty about the fine trail of mud they were leaving in their wake on the once-clean alabaster tiles, when it happened. MacGuire glanced about, a creeping sensation sneeking up on him. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. His mind struggled with something he couldn't understand, head aching ever so slightly as it fought against the constraints upon it.

Then it hit him. A strange tingling, an electric buzz at the back of his skull, like a fly embedded in his ear. It seemed to hum extraordinarily loud, but Fox paid it no heed. Hands flying to the side of his skull, MacGuire felt a great sense sweep over him. A feeling of foreboding. Pain lanced through his mind, and he fell, legs giving out in agony. Something was very, very wrong.

Screaming a warning to the sergeant, he saw it as he writhed on the floor. A strange recession in the tiles. No different than any other tile, save for the fact that it sunk just an inch lower. Absolutely innocent.

And it terrified him.

The sergeant failed to notice it, still turning in response to his corporal's cries of pain. His foot made contact with the plate, and everything changed.

Eyes beginning to dialate in pain, the corporal still managed to see what his subconscious had sensed all along. The enormous, cathedral-like room had vanished, as if it was never there. They stood in the same dark tunnel as before, having never entered the light. His head throbbing in pain, a searing ache gripping his brain, the corporal was disabled, twitching on the ground, helpless.

The sergeant noticed it at last, too, as the illusion vanished. Nothing but another dark corridor. Strange. Very strange.

But that didn't matter. One of his men was hurt, and he would be damned if he didn't help him. Seeing MacGuire contorting on the ground some five feet back, he made to assist him, but stopped short.

A transparisteel hatch stood in his way.

The transparent doorway stood between him and MacGuire, sealed shut against all assistance. It had sealed behind Fox, while the two of them had been mesmerized by this terrible place's power. He wouldn't be able to help him.

Glancing away, he realized he stood in a small, compartmentalized chamber. Around him, several large tanks stood, sealed airtight. They had no discernable markings, and for all he knew he stood in a broom closet.

But when a single red light flickered on above him, bathing the room in a bloody glow, a horrible truth dawned on Fox. The door wasn't to keep him from assisting MacGuire. It was to keep the corporal from helping him.

As if on cue, MacGuire stopped twitching, panting heavily for a moment before hauling himself to his feet shakily. He didn't notice the hatch, only glanced at the sergeant. A weak, "Sir?" parted his lips, as Fox began to bellow orders.

"MacGuire! Something's not right! Grab your pack, prep the charges on this door!"

The corporal shook his head, eyes coming into focus. A second glance revealed to him what he had failed to see. Blood draining from his face, he hurried to obey Fox's orders. Ripping open his pack, he fumbled with the standard allotment of high-grade explosives it carried, suited for blowing open any titanium-A hatch.

As he plastered it to the surface, a warbling sound emitted from a loudspeaker somewhere within the chamber. It rose and fell, and although it was alien to both of them, and undeniably mechanical, they recognized it for what it was: a language.

The alien voice continued to grumble, intoning a message neither of them could understand. MacGuire kept working at the explosives.

Now it seemed to have grown higher in pitch, using less unintelligible whistling and more understandable sounds. But still unfamiliar. The corporal stuck the charges into the putty, twisting several wires together with his fingers.

"Language isolated. Control subject contained." A booming voice resonated now, in plain English. It still sounded nonhuman, and it struggled unfamiliarly with the words, but it was clear all the same. Terrifyingly so.

"Preparing first-contact scenario. Priming containment cells," the voice warned, emotionless.

Beating a hand against the door, Fox shouted, "Now would be great to blow the damn charges!"

MacGuire didn't need telling twice. Standing back, he thumbed the remote, signalling the device adhered to the hatch to detonate. There was a shrill beep, followed by a muffled whump! as the explosives ignited, blasting hot air and fire in every direction. A wave of heat rolled over MacGuire, who fell back, propelled by the blast.

Ears ringing, he rose again, and once the dust and wreckage had settled, saw to his alarm that the blast hadn't left a scratch in the transparent hatch. Fox seemed to have discovered a new shade of white in his facial color, staring through his prison door at MacGuire in disbelief.

"Hold on sir!" Raising his rifle, the corporal unloaded a clip into the hatch at point blank range, but the rounds merely ricocheted dangerously through the tunnel. Ducking to avoid his own bullets, MacGuire was at a loss for what to do.

"Batch primed. Releasing safties."

There was a gasp of air as the tanks unsealed, ancient gas swirling out of the containers, no doubt sealed for millenia. Fox swore, pressing his back to the door, weapon raised.

Everything was quiet for a moment, the gases swirling ominously out of the tank, but no movement occurred. Fox breathed heavily, terrified, as MacGuire frantically glanced about, helpless for what to do.

Then it happened. In an instant, something stirred within the crates, a swift movement, as something within their dark recesses scrambled about.

Grabbing a grenade off his vest, Fox lobbed the explosive into one of the cannisters, shutting his eyes as it detonated with a bang!

Smoke rose from the blast, filling the chamber. MacGuire couldn't see a damned thing.

Then, it happened. A flash of metal, a scurry of many mechanical feet. Dozens of small, spherelike objects rolled from their housings, metallic legs clicking in rapid succession on the floor. MacGuire heard Fox scream, "Go, kid! Run!" Saw the muzzle flash of his weapon discharging in no particular direction, then the horrible sound of hundreds of tiny blades slicing through flesh.

Blood splattered across the viewport, as Fox wailed at the top of his lungs, his screams dying into inane babble as his hands could be seen, clawing desperately at the door. MacGuire stood, rooted to the spot in terror, weapon shaking in his hands. The dark shapes had begun to rest on the sergeant, making a horrible sucking sound as they pressed themselves against his body.

Fox continued to scream, writhing for a while, before his voice died out slowly, in a final, drawn-out moan. He lay still, the tiny forms scurrying around him. The blast from the grenade had yet to settle. MacGuire couldn't get a clear look at the things.

Kneeling, he sat close to the glass, desperately trying to get a sign from his commander, any signal that he was still alive. The shapes seemed to sense his curiosity, scurrying away into the shadows of the chamber.

All but one, which lodged itself grotesquely to the base of his skull, and now MacGuire could see metal spindles, inserting themselves with horrible clicks into his bone. The sergeant's body twitched.

Rising, MacGuire started back, horrified by what he saw. Obscured still by the blood that now painted the clear metal door, Sergeant Fox lay still, unmoving, as the device began to chirp, satisfied.

The loudspeaker spoke again, proclaiming with a grim sense of finality, "Test complete. Subject confirmed to be a potential host. Conclusion: species is viable."

A moment's silence, as it seemed to debate with itself over what to say, before finally:

"Proceed with the purge."

As if by command, Fox stirred, rising shakily, limbs flailing uncontrolledly. For a moment, MacGuire stupidly believed he was still alive, and was about to call out when he saw, through the gore and the filth, two glowing red lights, where his eyes should have been.

The hatch, which had stood so stubbornly against their efforts, dinged with all the calmness of an elevator door, before whistling open.

Heart racing, a scream at his lips, the corporal ran, firing bullets as he went. The corpse stood still for a moment, as if unsure what to do next, before finally twitching again, and locking eyes with MacGuire.

With a clumsy step towards the corporal, Fox's body began to slowly advance, but with a deliberate determination that terrified the scout. It stumbled, bumbling as it tested its new limbs, excited, yet unsure of itself. Head spinning, he felt his stomach heave, and he turned his back on the thing that had, only minutes ago, been Sergeant Fox.

MacGuire took off, losing himself in the dark passage once again, scurrying desperately for his life, with the never-ending thud of the approaching footsteps close behind. It was coming, closer, closer.

The darkness enveloped around him, and MacGuire heard nothing now but the beat of his heart, the rasp of his breath. He turned a corner, no longer caring where he went, or if he lost himself forever in the shadows. He just had to get away. Get away.

Corporal MacGuire, second class, ran headfirst into a towering figure, easily six feet tall. Its metal bones shook only slightly as he impacted with them, falling back onto the floor. Gazing up in horror, MacGuire couldn't even muster a scream as the machine scrutinized him with two glowing red ocular devices, before extending a single, metal hand towards him.

It intoned, in synthesized speech, "Target aquired."