AN: It feels goooooood to be back in this particular genre, although it isn't in the way I had expected. To those who have read my profile, you know that this story was one of my ideas that I planned to write once I finished the HaloSWEndwar saga. Well, that plan has gone officially FUBAR. I put Breaking Point on hold until the proper inspiration strikes me, so in the meantime, I decided to indulge you with this. Please, enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. Star Wars belongs to LucasArts, and Halo belongs to Bungie/343 Industries. All OC's are mine, naturally.

THE ROOKIE: SMUGGLER

1609 hours, April 28, 2559 (Military Calendar) \ Epsilon Indi System, Far Space

Encryption Code: RED

Public Key: NONE

From: CODE NAME OLD BARD

To: Fl. Adm. Terrence Hood, Special Attaché, FLEETCOM, United Nations Security Council, UNSCMID: 091101276

Subject: Emergency Alert Status

Classification: RESTRICTED (XXXX-XD Directive)

/START FILE/DECRYPTION PROTOCOL/

FLASH TRANSMISSION TO UNSC HEADQUARTERS SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

OLD BARD DIRECTED TO FL. ADM. TERRENCE HOOD-EYES ONLY

INSTALLATION 03 FOUND

ENCOUNTERED IMMEDIATELY AFTER SLISPACE TRANSITION. FORERUNNER PROTOCOL INITIATED. ALL SHIPS LOCKED DOWN. NO EXPORT OR IMPORT THRU SPACE TO NEIGHBORING CRAFTS. SCANNED SURFACE OF ARTIFICIAL CONSTRUCT-NO FLOOD FORMS DETECTED. WILL NOT TERMINATE PROTOCOL. FLOOD CAN BE CONTAINED UNDERNEATH SURFACE, MUCH LIKE THE OTHER INSTALLATIONS.

SOME SECTIONS OF THE RING'S BIOSPHERE CAN SUPPORT HUMAN LIFE. MOST CONSIST OF VOLCANIC TERRAIN WITH ENOUGH HEAT TO MELT THE HULL OF UNSC FRIGATE. THE AREA HOLDING THE CONTROL ROOM IS LOCATED A FEW KILOMETERS OFF THE "NORTH POLE" OF THE RING. PER GENERAL ORDER 99.98.122, I HAVE BEEN GRANTED AUTHORIZATION TO TAKE COMMAND OF ALL UNSC FORCES WITHIN THE DESIGNATED AREA.

SENDING A TEAM OF ORBITAL DROP SHOCK TROOPERS TO SEARCH CONTROL ROOM. ODST TEAM PREPPING FOR DROP.

/END/

/PRESS DELETE/

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Alright boys, get set for a combat drop!" Capt. Veronica Dare announced, slamming a fresh magazine into her assault rifle.

The ODSTs were gathered in "Hell's Waiting Room", the infamous drop pod bay that catered especially to the UNSC Special Forces troopers. Rows upon rows of black, utilitarian compartments waited on either side of the thin hall, dark and menacing.

Once ejected, the pods would fall into space, eventually entering the atmosphere. There, the nerve-wracked man or woman inside could only pray for survival.

Every ODST knew this. It was a fact in the orbital trooper's reserved knowledge. It wasn't the fall that scared these warriors, or even the landing.

It was their target they feared.

"Send me to an Insurgent hive!" Lance Corporal Kojo Aju, a.k.a "Romeo" cried. He was a big black man, large enough to intimidate even a brawny Jiralhanae. "A Loyalist ship! I don't give a rat's ass about that! Anything but a fucking Halo ring!"

"Stow it, Romeo," Edward Buck, or just Buck for short, replied, donning his helmet. Having had the dubious honor of fighting in almost every major battle in the Human-Covenant War, he had skills no other man could easily boast. Although he was thick-skinned and short tempered, he was every inch the team leader. Well, he used to be. "We do what the brass wants us to, and that's that."

"That's exactly it," Romeo exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. "We're like their pets. What do they care if we get eaten alive by Flood? Just unexpected casualties, that's all!"

"What's with the sudden change of attitude, Romes?" Corporal Taylor H. Miles, "Dutch", called. Dutch, a big man with a big heart, had a love for big guns and shooting shit. To put it shortly, he was a valuable asset. He popped open the lid of the first pod. "You never really vented so much about the big guys at Sydney."

"Yeah, well, getting dumped in a God damned Halo installation does nothing for my temper." he grumbled.

"Sheesh, lighten up Romeo." PFC Michael, "Mickey", Crespo interjected. He retrieved a M41 Surface-to-Surface Rocket Medium Anti-Vehicle/Assault Weapon from a nearby rack. Having the honor of being the explosive ordnance expert, the unofficial pilot, and the CQC expert, he could kill stuff with a bomb, a plane, and his hands. Needless to say, Dutch would often find himself envying the man. "There's probably nothing there. Like the AI said, there's nothing Flood-like on the whole surface. Plus, any flimsy parasite sack would disintegrate from the heat."

"Whatever," Dutch mumbled, putting on his helmet. "What've you got to say about it, Rookie? Rookie? Shit, look, he's sleeping again."

Sure enough, the newest member of "The Squad" was fast asleep in the corner of the room. No one knew his real name, apparently. Too much black ink. He was the only surviving member of some op gone wrong in the past. After getting placed with them, he had proved himself a skilled warrior, able to navigate through New Mombasa to rescue his squad mates, all the while killing any Covenant who dared get in his way.

So far, the man never took off his helmet. No one knew what he looked like.

Romeo stalked over to the Rookie's prone form and kicked him in the thigh.

"Romeo!" Dare snapped, her blond hair swinging even though it was tied securely in a ponytail. "Don't kick him."

"Ah, who cares, he's not even-"

The Rookie's hand shot out like lightning, gripping Romeo's ankle before he could move away. The ODST leaned over and twisted.

Romeo yelped. The big trooper fell to the floor hard.

"What the hell?" he yelled, blushing inside his black helmet as the other guys guffawed.

The silent warrior wagged his finger at the fallen trooper. Dare allowed herself a little smile.

"Alright boys, enough playtime. We've got a job to do." she said.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

"Fuck! It's HOT!" Mickey exclaimed, prying himself away from the steaming drop pod.

"Quit bitchin', Mick," Buck replied, detaching his assault rifle from the pod's weapons canister. "Can't stand the heat?"

The pods had landed in the middle of a scorching desert, volcanic peaks clearly visible in the distance. The Rookie looked down at his DMR. The metal skin was starting to smoke a little.

"See that structure?" Dare cut in over TEAMCOM. In the haze, her little figure pointed to a gleaming Forerunner structure against a wall of cliffs. "That's our objective. We secure it, give the go signal, then wait for pick-up."

Dutch walked over, supporting Romeo's slumped form. The two large men looked identical in their black matte ODST armor.

"Fine day out, hmm?" Dutch said, in a surprisingly jovial tone.

"Fuck you, Dutch," Romeo croaked. "Not all of us spent most of their life driving trucks in fricking Mars, for God's sakes."

Dutch ignored him, instead humming into the COM like a schoolgirl on a sugar rush.

The ODSTs started forward moving into a familiar sweeping pattern as they traversed the sandy terrain. They moved in utter silence, nothing save for the wind disrupting their COM links. They came within a hundred meters of the huge Forerunner structure. It looked just like the other Control Rooms in the known Halo installations. Vaguely pyramid-like, with an obelisk jutting at the top.

"Finally," Romeo wheezed. "I hope the Forerunners had air-conditioning, because I'm-"

Almost instantly, the temperature dropped twenty degrees.

Dare signaled for a halt. They crouched warily, momentarily shocked by the sudden change in the weather. The terrain and sky hadn't changed; it was still a dull red and brown. It was as if God had brushed a giant ice pack through the Control's Room's area, instantly cooling it. Buck was the first to recover, walking in front of the Control Room ramp entrance. Glowing sigils told the direction of the upper balcony.

"Well, that's convenient," he said, resting his rifle on his padded shoulder.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The giant doors opened with a steady hiss. The Rookie peered into the entrance, the barrel of his gun poised directly in front of him.

It was a vast corridor, as large as a frigate in width and height. They walked atop a metal walkway poking out from the entrance and out into the center of the room. An obelisk jutted from the bottom of the gray, spherical chamber, ringed at the top by an all-too familiar holographic structure.

"Is that a hologram of the whole damn Halo ring?" Mickey whispered in awe.

He took off his helmet, revealing his middle-aged, crisp features. A shade of stubble covered the bottom half of his pale face.

"Looks like it," Dare answered, she herself amazed. She refused to take off her helmet, however. "Put that helmet back on ASAP, private."

"Yes, sir," he replied, donning his black ODST helm. "Sheesh," he whispered under his breath.

The captain fixed her eyes on Crespo.

"Sorry."

The ODST team stood there awkwardly for a moment, part in awe and in helplessness. The objective had been reached. Dare had already set the signaling device, and they had been told pick-up would follow soon after. However, all was silent.

"The hell?" Romeo murmured, turning around to examine the entrance. No one was coming in.

"Veronica," Buck snapped. "What in God's name is going on here?"

"I don't know, Buck," she barked back. "All I'm getting is static."

"Does this place interfere with COMs or something?" Dutch put in.

"Could be," Dare sighed. "It doesn't matter. All we can do is wait. We were told to stay inside the Control Room, and that's what we're going to do."

The Squad stood there for a few more minutes, most of them itching to get out of the eerie Forerunner structure. As of now, the heat seemed a much more welcome environment than the dull silence of the Control Room. The Rookie placed his weight on one leg, and then on the other. He was agitated, and he didn't know why. He looked at Dare.

The female captain seemed to read her man's unease in a heartbeat. When the Rookie felt something was wrong, then something was definitely wrong.

"Okay, damn protocol, we're pulling out," she ordered nervously. She hefted her rifle and motioned to the door. "Something's wrong."

Just as they were about to head out, the control panel at the head of the walkway fizzled, and a giant figure sprung from the digital console.

"Where do you think you're going?"

TheOld Bard was a sixth-generation AI, the latest of his kind. He chose to style himself in the guise of a famous playwright that had lived many hundreds of years in the past, a man who had went by the name of Shakespeare. He was an incredibly literate figure, as was the Old Bard. Shakespeare was his idol, if AIs had any. He dressed in Elizabethan Age garb: a stylish petticoat, tight leggings, and a colorful waistcoat and frilly collar. Even his mustache was combed and curled to resemble the playwright.

"Finally," Dare sighed in relief. She didn't want to show her suspicion at the AI's late arrival. "We thought we had lost you. When's the pick-up arriving?"

"I am afraid that your departure must be delayed for quite some time, Captain Veronica Dare. Recent revelations have somewhat…soured our implications of previous known judgments."

"What?" Romeo asked bluntly, confused.

"What I mean to say, Lance Corporal Kojo Aju, is that this Halo ring hides more than what we presumed."

"Great," Buck interjected, unable to hide his unease and tension. "Now can we leave? We did what you wanted."

The Old Bard, who now loomed above them, arched a digital eyebrow.

"My apologies, Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck, but this newfound information has barred your previous pick-up. We cannot allow anyone who has entered the Control Room leave without a proper examination."

"What, are you going to pull our pants down, hold our goodies, and tell us to cough twice?" Romeo remarked harshly. "What can possibly infect us in a matter of seconds? Flood? I don't see any Flood here!"

"You forget Flood spores, corporal, which to the human eye is near invisible. At least its smallest form is. You are right; however, there are no micro biotic Flood forms present in the environment."

"Then let us go," Buck responded, spreading his arms wide.

"I cannot allow that, Edward. We do not know what the Forerunners speak of in their glyphs. So far, I have only been able to infer that they implemented a "Last, Last, Last Resort" to their Halo Array. As of now, I do not know what will happen. To be safe, you must remain here as I work as close as I can get."

He ended it with that, promptly turning his back on them and working on the console. The ODSTs were beside themselves. Romeo stalked over to the busy AI, cracking his knuckles. Mickey and Dutch quickly grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Are you stupid?" Dutch hissed. "Don't try to punch an AI, especially one who's the commanding officer of the whole fleet. Goddamnit, he probably knows everything that's happening behind his back!"

Romeo muttered a few colorful words but otherwise kept silent.

They stood there in complete silence as the AI did his work.

"Yes," the Old Bard muttered after what seemed like hours. "Yes. I see."

The Rookie and the others looked at Dare questioningly. She shrugged and faced the AI.

"Eons of work…years of trial and error…all to achieve this seemingly ridiculous plan. Quantum mechanics at its highest! An Einstein-Rosen Bridge sealed in a web of compressed dimensionality...interesting. A feat worthy of a Micro-Dyson Sphere. The Forerunners have achieved something greater than anticipated."

"Hello?" Buck cut in, waving a gloved hand. "Would you mind filling us in?"

"Oh…" the AI gasped quietly, ignoring the ODST. "Oh God…What have I done?"

"Hey, hey, hey! Whoa there, big guy," Romeo said anxiously. "What's going on?"

"I was blind in my quest for true knowledge! NO! You must get out of here at once!"

The AI was distraught, his digitally enhanced features wracked with anguish, something impossible for an AI. The door opened, as did every exit possible in the facility.

"Leave!" he cried, his voice magnified to the highest degree. He gestured violently to the door. "Leave now! I was a fool to have kept you here!"

"What the hell is happening!" Dare exclaimed, pushing her team towards the exit frantically. The ODSTs were confused, but the AIs manner was chilling.

Suddenly, the building began to shake. The Rookie lost his footing and fell to the floor, frighteningly close to the edge of the walkway. Buck had to yell to be heard over the loud din.

"BARD! WHAT JUST HAPPENED!"

"IT'S ON A TIMER! IT IMMEDIATELY BEGAN THE INITIATION SEQUENCE AFTER I OPENED THE FILES CONTAINING THE DATA! THIS WAS THEIR LAST RESORT, A SECRET PLAN IF THE HALO ARRAY HAD FAILED TO ELIMINATE ALL LIFE IN THE GALAXY! I WAS TOO LOST IN THE INFORMATION TO HAVE NOTICED THE MINISCULE COUNTDOWN! LEAVE NOW!"

The Rookie got to his feet. He saw the others run out of the room, passing through the open exit. He sprinted down the corridor, desperate to escape the crumbling room.

A white light erupted from the center of the corridor, coalescing around the bottom of the chamber like a bright pool. The silent warrior stumbled once more, felled by the increased shaking. He vaguely heard the screams of his fellow teammates through the ear-splitting noise.

He turned around.

The white light was almost upon him, a pure substance that blinded him and pushed him to the floor. The force was astonishing; it felt as if a hundred Scorpion tanks had been compressed against his whole frame. A silent scream contorted his invisible features. The pain was terrible, yet he would not die. His body was being stretched like a rubber band, his legs being pulled into an unknown space.

The Bard arose before him like a divine aura. His electronic build filled the Rookie's vision like a god from the olden days. A sad smile graced the AI's fair features, an expression of guilt and regret.

"I have done you a great wrong, Lance Corporal," he said, his voice fading as he spoke. "Although I can halt this tide of power, I cannot save you from your ultimate fate. The Forerunners engineered this failsafe to save the souls of existence. For you, however, only mystery awaits. You are leaving this galaxy, soldier. Perhaps fate ordained this occasion, or maybe the advanced mathematics of an empire long extinct. It does not matter. You have a long road ahead of you, soldier. You must find your way. Farewell."

The UNSC AI spread his arms wide, a cry emitting from his entire presence. Before his body was sucked into the void, before his world turned to black, the last thing the Rookie ever heard was a scream of absolute torment.

It did not take him long, however, to realize it was his.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Buck removed his hand from his helmet visor, restoring his vision. The corridor outside the Control Room was steaming. Smoke seemed to steam from every crack, gathering in a dense mist above their heads. The doors to the Control Room were frozen halfway.

"What the hell just happened?" Mickey cried, immediately to his feet.

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was bad," Buck answered almost casually. He rose to his feet, followed by the rest of the bewildered team.

"Dutch, Romeo, check the room," Dare ordered, shaken but no less in command.

The two big ODSTs, for once in their lives lost for words, obediently inspected the Control Room through the man-sized crack in the doorway that acted as the entrance.

Romeo gave the thumbs-up.

One by one they entered the vast chamber, eyes roving everywhere.

The center obelisk was fragmented into many pieces, lying broken amidst the rubble on the bottom of the spherical room. The Halo hologram was practically nonexistent save for brief flashes of a part here and there. The walkway was smoldered and black and the console all but vanished.

"Damn," Romeo whispered.

There was a brief flash of light, and the vague figure of the Bard appeared at the head of the walkway.

"Bard!" the captain cried, rushing over to the shaky AI. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"C-Cannot…function to full degree…Initiating shutdown and purging of files…data stored as: Top Secret placed in lockdown until appropriate passcode entered."

"C'mon, Bard, don't die on us!" Buck cried, even as the fizzling form of the AI began to appear less and less. His features were distorted and unrecognizable, but something akin to sadness permeated his aura. "What happened? Where's the Rookie?"

"He is lost to us…gone to another dimension…When the sword and shield are splintered, and the fortress overthrown, the rider of the stars will carry the Reclaimers to a place where the taint of the Flood will not reach. The…The…Forerunners achieved their plan…to transport human life to the New World…yet…yet…I could not allow it…Humanity had come too far to start all over again…I stopped the sequence…but it c-cost me everything…farewell, ODST…pray for your brother-in-arms…for he will need it…"

The voice was cut and the figure vanished. The Old Bard was no more.

Something fell to the ground from the empty space that had held the AI. It clattered to the ground. Dare knelt down and picked it up.

"It's a data chip," she murmured, inspecting the small device. "This must be the top secret files he talked about."

"Well, this is just amazing!" Buck exclaimed, throwing his weapon to the ground. "Our CIC's dead, the Rookie is God knows where, and all intel about the event purged! This is one big pile of crap if you ask me!"

"Word," the three remaining squad members said simultaneously.

Dare took off her helmet, revealing her pretty, but hard features. Her blond hair was matted to her scalp. She placed the data chip in her pocket and began to walk away.

"C'mon, there's nothing we can do." she said. "Let's get the hell out of here."

One by one, they left the Control Room. Buck paused at the doorway, the memory of the AI and his friend lingering in his mind. Suddenly, something prickled at the back of his head. It tingled his spine, sending an ungodly shiver down his back. He gripped his gun, yelled to the others, and turned…

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

His body felt as if it were being stretched tight by his extremities. Every muscle and tendon strained to its highest degree; an invisible force pulled him without mercy or restraint. The world around him was a spectrum of bright colors: Flashes of red, splashes of silver, flickering dots of yellow. He had the vague expression of being sucked through a tube, a cramped and uncomfortable one at that. A massive groan escaped his clenched lips. The pain was nigh unbearable, and if it went any longer, he would be pushed over the brink.

Suddenly, the pain stopped, as if it had heard the Rookie's pleas and heeded. His body snapped back together, like a rubber band, and before he knew it, he was falling.

"Aargh!" he cried, his body hitting the ground with an ungraceful thud. His body armor cushioned the blow, but it also pressed into his chest unmercifully. He gasped for air.

Moaning, he picked up his Silenced SMG and looked around him.

First off, he grimly noticed that the crowd surrounding him did not look human at all. All were vaguely humanoid, but sadly, that was where the comparison ended. He saw one alien with a furry simian body, but its head was elongated like a worm's. It peered at him curiously with dark beady eyes. The Rookie stumbled backwards, his senses on high alert. Where the hell was he?

His back hit something warm and hard. He whirled around to see a large humanoid with dark-blue skin glare down at him. Its head was bald but spiked with tiny horns, and fang-like teeth jutted from behind its upper lip. It snarled and shoved him aside.

The Rookie fell on his can, completely bewildered. The tide of aliens were all around him. They walked to and fro like pedestrians on a city sidewalk, and the trooper was beginning to think that it was exactly that. They wore exotic clothing that ranged from simple toga-like garb to outrageous suits of shiny material and metal cuffs. Depending on what race of alien they were, the clothes fit their bodies. The Rookie managed to get on his feet, and when he did, he finally took time to see where he was.

Magnificent spires rose to the sky, gleaming gloriously in the sunlight. They were all of unique designs, some spiraled sideways and others were bulbous and curved. They stood like giant sequoias in a forest of raw metal, stoic and unmoving. The light shimmered beautifully over their polished skin; it was a sight that not even New Alexandria or New Mombasa could have achieved.

Vehicles were flying-flying!-around these towers, circling and honking as if they were on the streets of New York. They flew in the thousands: pedestrian vehicles forming air traffic the ODST had never witnessed in his life. They came in different colors and forms, more strange and exotic than any fancy automobile Mars Automotive Innovations or Mech Tech could've fashioned. The city hummed and buzzed with an air of business and ambition no UNSC city garnered.

He spun around and around, his mouth hanging open behind his helmet. The crowd surged around him, many giving the strange individual in black curious looks. None bothered to stop and chat, however. Life was busy in Coruscant, and there was never time to stop in rush hour.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The metallic doors slid open with a pleasant beep. Steam wafted from hidden vents in the ground, swirling around the Rookie's legs like tentacles. Reluctantly, the ODST stepped inside.

He had felt extremely relieved when he found a store labeled in English. Relieved, but also curious. Where was he? If the place had English, then was the UNSC still around? The city was too advanced and spacious to be of UNSC construction, and the first thought he had was that he had traveled to the future. The bar, for that was what is had been named, Fawlee's Bar, to be specific, was a dingy establishment lit with sporadic flashes of light from a broken projector. The futuristic looking counter was grimy with stains and decades of poor treatment. Broken vials and cups lay scattered across the brown floor, and only one or two individuals sat on the tables situated around the room. The bartender, to the trooper's surprise, was human.

The Rookie approached the grizzled, elderly man cautiously, his combat boots clacking loudly on the marble floor. The man finished wiping a glass with a rag and glared at the soldier.

"Let me guess. Bounty hunter. You could've dressed a little more inconspicuous, what with the all-black vibe going on there. You coming back from a run?"

The Rookie stared.

"Is it a drink you want?" the bartender pried, his thin eyebrows raised. "Do you even speak Basic?"

The Rookie shifted his feet, not knowing what to say. The man thought he was a bounty hunter, an occupation the ODST had always abhorred. He had a picture of bounty hunters being cruel men searching for money to satiate their desires. Of course, not all were like that, but the men who the Rookie had apprehended over the years were. He slowly nodded his head.

The bartender sighed. He poured a dark substance into a glass and set it in front of him.

"You're not one for talking, so I'll pour you the usual. This is the hunter favorite around these parts, so that'll be eleven credits."

The Rookie didn't have the faintest clue what credits were, and he sure as hell didn't have any. He stared at the cup, mulling his situation over in his head. The bartender coughed, his expression one of impatience and confusion.

"If you don't want the drink, I'll get you a-"

"Fawlee Dravton! How long has it been?" a jovial voice called from behind the Rookie.

The bartender's face darkened, and he straightened his back and reached for something under the counter. "Han Solo. Didn't think you'd have the gall and the idiocy to visit the capital of the entire Empire, but then again, you weren't much for brains. Now, get the kriff out of my bar before I blast your annoying face to smithereens."

The Rookie, interested and curious, turned around.

The man was of medium height, the Rookie placed him at around five foot ten. He wore a black vest over a white shirt, slit at the collar and revealing his upper chest. He had on black pants, almost like jeans but the material looked too smooth and foreign. Disheveled brown hair gave the man a somewhat scruffy look. He had light skin and brown eyes set deep into his face by a pronounced forehead. He had a rugged smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lending him an almost friendly persona. The gleam in his eyes, however, told otherwise.

Behind him, the living representation of Bigfoot plodded its way through the doorway, dwarfing all the occupants of the room. It had shaggy brown fur covering every inch of its massive body, and hooked claws ended at tips at the feet and hands of the alien. Dark eyes peered around the room, and almost human-like lips moved wordlessly as it processed its surroundings. The beast wore what looked like ammunition canisters around its chest Pancho Villa-style, and a giant metal crossbow hung on its back. The beast gave a warbling cry, and the man named Han Solo nodded impatiently.

"I know, Chewie, I know. We'll take care of them later." he replied, his eyes fixed on the old bartender. "Fawlee, we're good friends. I've covered your back dozens of times in the past-"

"That's a load of druk if you ask me, Solo," the man growled. "You farkled that deal with Jabba and nearly got us all killed. The Gamorrean guards that Jabba keeps as pets ripped Torley to shreds, and the Rancor gobbled up Cathran and Tzu when we tried to run for it. Only Westor and I got out alive, no thanks to you and your furball back there."

The creature warbled again, and Solo shushed it quickly. He tilted his head at the bartender, as if confused. "You mean that scrap in Tatooine? You still remember that? C'mon, Fawlee, that was ages ago, and you know I gave you your portion in the end!"

The bartender hefted a nasty-looking gun from under the counter. It was huge, double-barreled and humming in preparation. The Rookie scampered out of the way as quickly as he could. The other occupants of the bar ran out of the building; they wanted no part in this. The Rookie knew he should've left too, but curiosity got the better of him and he stayed. Han Solo lifted an eyebrow, and the beast behind him withdrew the crossbow, roaring in challenge.

"A DB-321?" Han said, a smirk on his face. "You know those are contraband, no matter how old of a model it is."

"Who cares?" Fawlee snorted. He flipped a switch on the handle, and the humming intensified. "Damn Imps don't care to bother dirty old bartenders like me, so they don't see it. It doesn't matter, really. I'm about to blow your worthless sack to the Outer Rim, your wookie friend, too."

Han Solo went deathly still.

Fawlee's trigger finger twitched, and the duo sprang into action.

The "wookie" spun to the right, while Solo dove to the left. Fawlee cursed and pulled the trigger. A ball of superheated plasma soared through the room, missing the two partners and melting an entire hole through the double layered metal door. There was an explosion, and the sounds of screaming. Fawlee muttered under his breath and brought his gigantic gun over, but Solo was faster.

Quick as lightning, he drew a small pistol from its holster on his hips. An expression of total concentration settled on his features as he aimed and fired. The red plasma streaked faster than the Rookie could blink, hitting the old man square between the eyes. Fawlee's eyes rolled over in his head, and he dropped with a dull thud.

The wookie warbled.

"We didn't have to kill him, true," Solo grunted. "I don't want any loose ends, though. Knowing the old bastard, he'd probably snitch the moment we hit sky."

Solo noticed the lone black figure standing in the bar for the first time, and his eyes widened. "Chewie!" he cried.

The wookie huffed in affirmation and circled around the ODST, crossbow poised. Han Solo smiled, almost sadly, at the Rookie and lifted his gun. "Sorry, man. Like I said, no loose ends."

He pulled the trigger.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The Rookie, no matter how surprised he was at the use of plasma in the room, was no slouch when it came to speed. Often he had found himself dodging entire spiker shards when he fought Brute Minors in the depths of New Mombasa. Now, with his senses on high alert once again, Han Solo's finger seemed to move incredibly slowly. He moved to the side, the weight of his ODST standard issue combat armor irrelevant. The muzzle brightened a hellish red, and the plasma shot lanced by, grazing the Rookie's arm. He gritted his teeth, but he wasn't done. The ODST took advantage of the man's momentary surprise by grabbing Solo's gun hand and twisting. The man yelped and fell to his knees, eyes clenched shut in pain. The trooper flashed behind the downed man, hooking an arm around his neck and pulling him up. Through his visor, he stared at the shocked wookie.

It warbled again.

"I'll tell you what you could've done," Solo barked angrily from under the soldier's tight headlock. "You could've moved faster, you laserbrain!"

The wookie groaned and dropped his crossbow down a fraction. The Rookie lessened his grip on the squirming man and stepped back. The wookie roared and lifted his weapon again, but Solo waved his hands frantically.

"No, Chewie!" he gasped, rubbing his reddened neck with one palm. "Don't shoot." Han Solo turned to the Rookie with a bewildered expression. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

The Rookie shrugged.

Solo smirked. "Strong and silent type, eh? What're you, a mercenary? Bounty hunter?"

He shrugged again.

Harried voices and stiff commands sounded from outside the bar. Footsteps clacked outside in the street, and Han's face darkened.

"Ah kriff, we haven't even found the damn ship yet. Chewie, see if there's a back exit."

The wookie barked in assent and disappeared behind the shelves of drinks. Han rummaged around his hips, muttering angrily to himself. He cursed, looking down at his holster.

"Where the crink is my blaster?" he grumbled.

The Rookie tossed him the pistol, grinning underneath his helmet. The man caught it, slightly blushing. Then, the first soldier walked in.

He was dressed all in white, a complete opposite to the Rookie's matte black. A slightly squat helmet covered his face, its vaguely T-shaped visor menacing and blank. The armor was spit-shined polished, looking almost brand-new. He held a black gun the length of a forearm, and when he saw the two men, he lifted it.

The ODST was faster. He raised his Silenced SMG and fired. The first bullets left only dents on the surprisingly durable armor, and pinged off the walls and floor. The Rookie grimaced but kept on firing. The bullets eventually tore into the armor, splintering the chest plate and turning the soldier's torso into a mess of gore. The soldier fell, red plasma firing wildly in the corpse's frozen grip. The Rookie quickly inserted a fresh clip into the cartridge and waited. Solo was giving him a weird look, and the trooper faced him.

Han looked down at the SMG and back at the Rookie. "You're a slugthrower? This far into the Core Worlds?"

Yet again, the Rookie had no idea what Han meant, so he kept silent. The man gave the trooper an exasperated look, but turned away. Two more white-armored soldiers came stalking through the breached doorway, firing at the direction of the two warriors. The Rookie aimed upwards and fired at the first man's visor. The 5x23mm MM43 Caseless Full Metal Jacket/.197 caliber rounds ripped through the soldier's visor, fracturing his skull and sending his brains flying out the other side.

Han Solo was quick and nimble with his gun; obviously he had a lot of experience. He fired three shots into the other man's torso. The soldier dropped instantly, a charred and steaming mess substituting as a belly. There was an urgent cry from the back of the bar, and the giant wookie stuck his shaggy head out from a corridor.

"Thanks, Chewbacca! Time to go!" Solo grunted, backpedaling towards the back hallway. "Come with us, we can use your skill set, no matter how primitive it might appear."

Seeing no choice, the Rookie followed Han Solo and Chewbacca down the hall.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The towering wookie led the way, its trunk-like legs moving as fast it could manage. Solo was close behind, always taking a quick look behind his shoulder. The Rookie was a ways back, jogging calmly and steadily.

"We ain't taking a kriffing walk in the park, tough guy," Solo yelled back. "We haven't got all day, you know!"

The Rookie ignored him, checking to see if his tools were strapped to his waist. Solo's eyes widened as he looked over the trooper's back. "Hey! You've got three Imp troopers behind-!"

The ODST chucked a fragmentation grenade over his shoulder and started to sprint down the corridor. There was a satisfying boom and anguished screams as the shrapnel lodged in the Imps' bodies. He passed the two friends, who were standing still. They traded a confused look and shook their heads.

They caught up with the Rookie. They came across a metal door, which, wasting no time, Chewbacca kicked open with no apparent effort. It was the Rookie's turn to be stunned, and Solo noticed.

"The trick is to feed them every hour," he explained lightly. "That way they don't lose any protein."

They rushed into the open sunlight. There was an angular looking ship docked in the middle of a square pit, machinery and fuel tanks littered around it. It must've been quite the beauty in its heyday, but that was long gone. Now, only a battered, triangular-shaped vehicle with a scraped green paint job remained. Chewbacca raced over to it and dropped a set of stairs from the open cockpit door. Han entered the cockpit, racing to the controls. There was a shout from behind the ODST.

A white-armored soldier popped out of the corridor, weapon raised. The wookie snarled and pressed the crossbow against his shoulder, sighting down the line of fire. Wisely, the Rookie dived out of the way and into the ship. A green bar of energy flashed through the miniature hangar, hitting the soldier in the chest. He was sent flying a few meters back, a burnt hole sizzling on his waist. He slumped against the wall, dead.

Chewbacca warbled in triumph and crouched into the spacious cockpit. The room was big enough for two men and a full-grown wookie; there were three control chairs spread across a panel stretching in a U-shape around the cockpit. There was a door leading to the rest of the rooms, and the main body of the ship. Solo flipped a few switches and pressed down on the controls, his fingers flying on the panel like an expert. The ship rumbled to life, and ever so slowly, began to hover. Han Solo whooped in delight, his fingers still working on overtime. Chewbacca roared along with him, giving his partner a celebratory high-five. The Rookie, as always, was silent.

There were slight bumps as the soldier below them started to fire. Solo didn't bother to look up. "Chewie…?"

The wookie gave a guttural cry and pressed some controls; he was surprisingly nimble despite his sloth-like claws. There was a hum and a whirring as the external turrets swiveled and started to fire. Green plasma speared into the cluster of troopers in the doorway. There was an explosion, and five white bodies went flying through the air, their polished armor burned to black. They cheered again, with the Rookie sitting down on the second chair silent as ever. The ship rose above the makeshift hangar, and zoomed ahead.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

The city was even more beautiful from the sky. The tens of thousands of pedestrians who walked the streets seemed like ants, and the neon lights that decorated every shop, establishment, and street lit up the twilight brighter than Las Vegas could every shine. The Rookie discovered that there were more stores, grandiose and haughty buildings that rose above the ground amidst the canopy of towers and spires. Han Solo pointed to a huge edifice, decorated in flamboyant colors and lights, hanging off a spire by a ledge of polished metal. It vaguely resembled a Hershey's Kiss in shape, curved and wide at the base. Hundreds of air vehicles were parked in front of it, and well-dressed aristocrats entered the building, their cheerful laughter floating in the breeze.

"Remember Bongo's Funhouse, Chewie?" the man said to his wookie friend. "The fat sleamo tried to nab you for a Trandoshan slave trader."

Chewbacca snarled, saliva dripping from his thin lips. His terrible canines jutted from his mouth as he stared hatefully at the magnificent building.

The Rookie processed everything that had happened in the past hours. He had been transported to a place where, evidently, human and aliens coexisted quite peacefully. Well, relatively. From what he gleaned from the partners' conversations, the planet was under the control of an "Empire". The ODST didn't know if this empire was totalitarian and cruel, but he did know that some of their soldiers had attempted to kill him a while back. In addition, the place was far more advanced than anything UNSC, maybe even Covenant. They used plasma weaponry for starters, and they were able to use aircraft for everyday civilian use. His mind reeled, and he gripped the control panel for balance. Where the hell had he been sent? The Old Bard had said something about a different galaxy, but that seemed far too outlandish. Well, he had seen some strange things…

The day's fatigue caught up with him, and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

/XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX\

Han Solo, smuggler, con, and ex-officer of the Imperial Navy, noticed the mysterious man slump in his seat. Soon, quiet snores could be heard under the man's strange helmet. Come to think of it, everything about the man was strange. The armor was unlike anything the smuggler had ever seen. It resembled some Spec Ops equipment some bounty hunters used, but the design seemed too…simple, utilitarian at best. The weird slugthrower hung limply from his open hand, and another one, a pistol, was tucked into a holster at his hip. The visor was gray and opaque, barring any external view. Chewbacca roared.

"I don't think throwing him out of the ship is a good idea, Chewie," Solo muttered. "We don't even know who he is…or who it is. Let's get the Falcon back, and then we'll decide what to do with him….Or it," he added hastily.

The wookie shrugged and returned to the controls.

Surprisingly, they made it out of the atmosphere without too much trouble. The regular inspection unit bombarded them with the usual questions, which Han answered skillfully. They got clear of the Imperial Home Fleet by the open route, and entered Hyperspace. The Rookie stirred as the ship zoomed into lightspeed. Han Solo leaned back in his chair, staring at the man curiously.

"Who are you?" he asked.

It was an honest question, so the Rookie did not know why he felt an urge to lie. This, in the AIs words, wasn't even his own galaxy, something that he had a lot of trouble grasping. He was thrown into an alien world without the least bit of proper intel, a chilling fact for a seasoned ODST like him. It was very disturbing to know he was somewhere billions of light-years away from everything he was familiar with: his team, his home, his brothers…was he ever going to see them again? He thought to himself, while Solo and his friend waited patiently for an answer.

The Rookie faced them.

"You first."

AN: If you are confused, which I am sure you are, do not fret. All will be explained later on, I promise. Please R it gives me encouragement and determination. I won't be a review whore though, so if you don't want to, you don't have to. Constructive criticism, please, and NO FLAMES POR FAVOR! Don't like it, don't read it. Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you like it.

P.S: I any of you are displeased with the fact that the Rookie will talk for the duration of the story, I am sorry. I find it difficult to write a character that has no dialogue.