August 30, 2552 20:00
Aszod ship-breaking yards, Eposz, Reach

It was done.

Six sighed as he leapt from the mass driver's cradle landing with against on the catwalk with an audible thud, tightly gripping his rifle the Spartan warrior scanned the area, all was silent not even a blip on his tracker. Lowering his weapon satisfied that he was for now, clear of Covenant signatures. Slowly walking from the weapon he knelt by the motionless form of Noble Team's Assault Specialist, Emile-A239, leaning against the Onager platform railing. Setting his rifle aside the Spartan stared mournfully at his fallen comrade, defiant to the end Emile was a credit to the team.

'Not much of a team now…' He muttered to himself bitterly, reaching over the Spartan removed the deceased man's tags from beneath his armor. Slightly tempted to remove the aggressive Spartan's customized helmet, No, pulling his hand back he stowed the Spartan's tag within a case on his thigh, Emile was the only other Spartan within Noble, beside Six himself that refused to remove his helmet, Emile's emblazoned with a skull chipped into the visor. For whatever reason he may have held for that Six would respect, though he never had a chance to speak with the man at length he was still a brother-in-arms, a fellow SPARTAN-III. Emile's tags would rest with the other Noble's who fell in defense of Reach;

Jorge-052 Noble Five, Noble's only SPARTAN-II and their heavy weapons expert. Gruff but empathetic the large man was his partner throughout much of the conflict; bonded in combat they shared a silent camaraderie. The Spartan had sacrificed himself to make sure that UPPERCUT had succeeded, obliterating a Covenant Super-carrier in a brilliant showing of human ingenuity. His last words still resounding within Six's head, "Tell 'em to make it count." The giant had spoken in a soft voice as he hefted Six off the ground, armor and all with a single arm. A testament to the power that his predecessors held. A faint smirk graced the scarred Spartan's features before tossing his comrade through the barrier, watching his descending form for a brief moment before setting off to complete his task. Another bitter sound filtered through the Spartan's speakers, had they made it count? Reach was lost, turning into a barren molten wasteland. To Six, Jorge had accomplished nothing but to die in vain, to delay the fall by a mere sixteen days. Shaking his head he dispelled the slow descent into melancholy, it was enough, sixteen days they had held the aliens off, sixteen days that millions of civilians and non-combat personal had a chance to flee. Sixteen more days that Earth remained safe from alien assault, more time for Humanity to galvanize, ready itself for the oncoming Covenant armada.

Catherine-B320 Noble Two, Noble Team's Intelligence specialist and second in command, curious as her nickname and always cheeky the woman never let her team down. From fixing plasma scarred relay to cracking classified ONI data, felled by an Elite needle rifle Six held her in his arms using her pistol to vainly avenge her. Like the rest of the team, he had no time to truly get to know the team's sole female but her saucy demeanor and ever-present curiosity served to amuse the Spartan even if he didn't vocalize it. Though it peeved him that she had cracked into his classified file, her actions had provided the key to their problem, a way to deposit their makeshift bomb.

Carter-A259 Noble One, Noble Team's fearless and no-nonsense leader, Six had little interaction with the Spartan leader even in comparison to the others. His courageous sacrifice allowed Emile and himself to reach the Autumn and deliver the package. Ramming their Pelican into the Scarab as it threatened to incinerate the two Spartan's with its gigantic plasma cannon, Carter had heroically sacrificed himself to insure their victory, and what Six hoped was Humanity's victory over the Covenant. Before the freefall from the back of the Pelican Carter had slipped Kat and his own tags into Six's hand, squeezing the newbie Noble's hand tightly he demanded that Six promise him that he would not fail. He had kept his promise.

Emile-A239 Noble Four, Noble Team's bold unbreakable assault specialist, Emile was the last Spartan Six had fought alongside. Defiantly defending the cannon against an Elite ambush he held off the Covenant drop ships before Six had taken the helm. Even as an Elite Zealot impaled him upon his sword, the skulled helmed Spartan still fought on, driving his signature kukri into the lizard's neck before succumbing to the horrible wound. Looking to his left Six spotted the kukri, buried hilt deep into the Elite's exposed flesh. Frowning he pried the curved blade from the alien; wiping the purple blood off upon the alien's own skin Six stared mournfully at his comrade's signature weapon. Returning to Emile's body, Six carefully removed the sheath mounted on his right shoulder pauldron sheathing the blade back within its rightful place Six attached it to his own pauldron.

"I'll make sure to cut plenty of Covenant bastards for you Emile. I won't cut myself, like Kat." Chuckling slightly at the joke Six spared the fallen Spartan a second glance before standing; he could not remain here any longer. Covenant forces would certainly coverage on the gun, eager to slay one of the Demons that had decimated their forces.

Satisfied Six abandoned the Onager making his way out of the shipyard, scavenging whatever supplies he could from the fallen Marines. It was strangely silent, except for the distant explosions and occasional sporadic gunfire, the only persistent sound was the far off Covenant cruisers slowly glassing Reach's surface. Even more peculiar was the lack of engagement, it had been at least an hour since he had left the facility and Six had yet to encounter a single Covenant patrol, not even a pack of their diminutive Grunts. If it wasn't such a worrying problem, Six would have breathed a sigh of relief. The Spartan commando would have preferred engagement rather than the stifling emptiness, the lack of action served only to let his mind wander, his spiral into a miserable mourning. His thoughts drifted to the final member of his team, Noble's sharpshooter Noble Three, Jun -A266 was a strange man in Six's opinion. His constant chatter a stark contrast to his role as a sniper, despite that he was a crack shot evidenced during their scouting mission within the Szurdok Ridge. Quickly picking off the Elite soldiers and saving Six from a Jackal who somehow managed to sneak behind him, a light-hearted quip at his heroics was the only chastisement he received from the Spartan before advancing to their next objective.

Noble One's final order to the taciturn sniper was to escort the Mother of the Spartan Program, the one and only Dr. Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, to safety. Despite her vehement disapproval of an escort their leader would not take a negative, a few words between the two were spoken before he and the doctor disappeared behind the bulkhead of a Pelican. Their ship vanishing on the horizon as the ice shelf concealing ONI's underground complex shuddered and collapsed, burying the Intelligence facility beneath thousands of tons of rock and ice.

During the uneventful hour Six had attempted to open contact with the sniper several times, each attempt however was similarly futile responded with bursts of static and warping dialogue. The Covenants glassing had either destroyed all the communication relays or caused interference. He had no way of knowing whether Jun survived or became another causality of Reach's downfall, Six truly hoped that the sniper had made it to safety. Noble Team did not deserve to perish completely on the surface of this now dead world; someone had to live on to carry the torch of their sacrifice and heroics. Noble Team's spirit would live on. Stopping the last member of the fireteam stared at the horizon, the sky an ominous orange illuminated by the dreadful advanced weaponry; it was more than likely that he would not live to see the next sunrise. Six had to chuckle at his rueful thoughts, Spartan never died; at least, that is what the higher ups wanted the common soldierite to believe. Despite the highly classified nature of the SPARTAN-III Program Six was painfully aware of the purpose he and his fellow third generation Spartans held, cheap disposable shock troops. ONI censors could not keep every iota of knowledge sealed, even from a computer illiterate soldier like him.

"Throwaway heroes," that is what Six had once overheard the term he and his fellow SPARTAN-III's were dubbed by command. In the face of the success of SPARTAN-II's such as Frederic-104 and John-117, the military hierarchy within the UNSC demanded cheaper Spartans. Those that could get the job done the same as a SPARTAN-II but at the fraction of the cost.

Six scoffed at the thought even in the face of annihilation humans still bore their greed money still truly ruled all. He, like the rest of his comrades was born from those ideals, cheap soldiers to turn the tide, to become the bulwark that humanity needed against the technologically superior Covenant. Recruited at age six the youth that would become known as Noble Six leapt at the offer to pay back the aliens for slaughtering his friends and family at Jericho. Throwing away his name and past Six endured many long years of training and painful genetic augmentations until it eventually bore fruit; before him, three hundred SPARTAN-III's, alongside him more. A boost that the ailing human military sorely needed.

Like the Spartans before him, Six slew all that stood between peace for the UNSC, removed from BETA immediately after training Six, displaying an aptitude for singular operation, segregated from his company sent off as a lone assassin. . Silencing a number of insurrectionist militias and Covenant war parties, rated Hyper-Lethal by ONI operatives Six was a loner, never one to stick to a single team. Carter had called him a lone wolf, an ironic phrase considering how well known the canine pack mentality was, true to the trait Six rarely interacted with others, even his Spartan brethren. His skill set complemented his solitary nature, a hyper-lethal assassin. In addition to his significant ground, combat repertoire the SPARTAN-III Commando joined the Tier-1 confidential SABRE Program, an experiential surface-launched space-superiority starfighter, while regarded himself as a mediocre pilot Command counted his training a success and lauded his accomplishments, specifically his only true usage of the skill. Other than during Operation UPPERCUT, B312 piloted the experimental craft during an uprising on the Eridanus colony of Mamore, eradicating the opposition and snuffing out the rebellion. According to his previous superior it was because of his results on the outer rim colony that had caught the attention of Noble Team's commanding officer Colonel Urban Holland, not two months after his excursion on Mamore did Six found himself on Humanity's second largest military-industrial complex, behind the home system, Reach birthplace of the SPARTAN-II's. The rest was history, the month long conflict that embroiled the planet was slowly ending, they had lost, no matter how many Spartans there were Humanity could not stand against the technologically superior armada that infested the skies.

Reach, had finally fallen.

Searing heat gnawed at his shoulder as the round of plasma struck his armor, while his failing shields absorbed most of ionized gas he could still feel its burn as his barriers finally shattered. Grinding his teeth swung his rifle around, catching the Elite General squarely in the helmet, knocking it off its feet the ignited energy blade clattering to the ground beside him. Sneering at the alien Six ripped his magnum from his magnetic holster, squeezing off two rounds into the creature's head. An expelled sigh suddenly sucked back in as more bolts of plasma streak past, dropping the magnum back into the magnetic field Six shouldering his rifle peppering the advancing Elite. Just as its shields were about to buckle under his ballistic assault a second barrage of plasma strikes his pauldron, splashes of the heated gas flickering against his exposed cheek.

His Commando helmet lay several feet away; the visor cracked, within the delicate optics and uplinks encased within the titanium shell now flickering uselessly. A damaged power relay or the numerous cracks littering the visor, either option rendered the heads-up display inoperable. Six wasn't sure what had damaged the non-reflective blue visor as the engagement had suddenly exploded into a vicious fight for survival. The Spartan had to abandon the helmet as the damaged material obscured his vision but also muted his surroundings, no long functioning properly the external speakers produced sporadic whines, and popping. Despite the near suicidal prospect of fighting without a protective head covering, Six had little choice.

Freeing his left hand from the rifle Six once again grabbed his magnum, unloading the clip into the Elite before its shields could hope to regenerate. Raising his rifle, he continued to fire at the second advancing Elite, the ammo counter rapidly diminishing the rifle bolt loudly snapped as the magazine ran dry. A third elite sprinted towards him, energy dagger glowing menacingly on its wrist, bringing his pistol to bear Six cursed as the magnum clicked harmlessly. His gaze returned to the advancing Elite as it slammed its four-digit hand striking him across the jaw, sharp pain lancing across his exposed cheek as the sharpened talon lacerated a line across his mouth. Sent sprawling to the ground the dazed Spartan instinctually thrust his leg out, driving his foot into the looming alien's torso, the aliens burning blade poised to strike the fallen human.

Combined strength of his augmented muscles and powered suit staggering the quarter ton beast backwards, armored boot kicking his discarded helmet down the short incline. The alien growling loudly at his prey's defiance surges forwards just as his red clad brethren leapt towards the prone Spartan, energy sword rocketing down aiming for his exposed head. Enhanced reflexes, jokingly referred to as; "Spartan Time," allowed his to move in time allowing the lizard only the brief satisfaction of a shallow cauterized wound on his cheek. Spiting defiantly at the beast Six slid his combat knife from its bandolier holster, a reckless swing managing solely to clip Elite's exposed eye, if NCO Mendez witnessed his sloppy knife work he was certain the stone-faced trainer would scold him viciously and force him into an intense retraining regiment.

The alien roaring in furious pain and religious fervor reels his sword back to finish the defiant demon, noticing the second Elite's oncoming attack Six ,rolling onto his side surges his leg out striking the unsuspecting Elite harshly in the exposed back section of his leg armor. He hoped that like humans, the white clad Ultra snarling at him, had a similar nerve bundle in their legs. His hopes were founded as a well-timed strike to the peroneal nerve, or whatever their races equivalent; even if they had one, Six later mused he might have just been lucky. Rage and momentum allows the fallen Spartan to catch the Elite off guard, sending him stumbling over his armored form and into his comrade. Despite their advanced technology and training the Elite's vehement stricture to their code of honor lead many to their deaths, blinded by zeal the two Elites failed counteract Six's simple strike. Colliding with each other the two Elites crumpled to the ground; pained roars alerted the Spartan to their fate, whether dead on their own blades or simply disabled Six cared little. So long as they were out of action he was content to let them sleep in the dirt, instinct and reflexes saving him as his foot struck forward catching a third advancing Elite's downward strike.

The alien roared in pain as the heavy armored foot removed the glowing blade from his taloned grip, capitalizing on the moment Six leapt to his feet, his vision swimming from pain and fatigue he swiftly drew Emile's kukri from his pauldron. Held defensively in front of him Six and the SpecOps Minor Elite circled one another, having retrieved his sword the Elite more than happy to engage one of the famed Demons in hand-to-hand. Behind the Elite's enclosed helmet the alien chuckled darkly, grunting out a string of words in his language, if those words sought to intimidate the Spartan they failed. Noticing his taunt failed the Elite nodded slightly before drawing one of its talons across his throat, a very human gesture suggesting that he wished to take Six's head.

Responding with a smirk Six gestured for the Elite to engage him, curious if it was as universal as he wondered. His curiosity sated when the beast snarled loudly charging forward, sword poised to impale him, sidestepping the lunge Six brought the curved knife down between the gap of the Elite's elbow joint, the squelch, and indigo blood coating the kukri an indication of his success. Expertly trained footwork spun as Six back peddled, giving a wide berth between him and the furious alien. Whipping around the Elite swung the sword in a wide diagonal arch; in response, Six struck his foot out catching the Elite once again in the wrist. It lacked his previous strength but it stopped to slash from cleaving through his chest, fueled by fury the Elite returned to the melee with a quick succession of slashes. Each strike the Elite threw at him Six either avoided or deflected with a similar strike; the SpecOps Elite was vicious in his assault, clearly wishing to earn accolades for ending a menace. As the two warriors traded a series of strikes that resulted in small nicks and cuts the Spartan, become painfully aware of distant roar of Covenant engines. A sound he had heard hundreds of times on the battlefield, 'drop ships, shit.'

Cursing under his breath again Six returned his focus to his current foe, the sooner he stopped toying with the Elite the faster he could make his escape from the oncoming onslaught of Covenant ground troops.

Rone 'Nakotee was furious, at first he relished in the battle with the Demon that had felled six of his battle-brothers in combat, he earned a warriors death. Now after what he believed to be at least a Unit both combatants we only held minor wounds a testament to the Demon's strength, to fully enjoy the battle Rone had disengaged his personal emitters, the battle would be pointless if his foe's metal blade could not pierce his defenses. Why these heretics still used such primitive weapons was beyond the Minor, raising his arm up he caught the curved metal blade against his gauntlet grunting as he shook off the weapon and swept his own the Demon's exposed head. Slipping underneath the slash the Demon planted his fist into Rone's exposed abdomen, his armor absorbed much of the Demon's force but Rone still felt his breath ripped from his lungs. Staggering backwards, Rone instinctually placed his hand on the spot. The sleek armor bearing a small indentation, these Demons were truly in a class about the rest of their pathetic race. While he enjoyed this melee with his armored foe, Rone sought to end it and return to his band, a Demon head in tow as his war trophy, a well-earned promotion, and accolades. Scanning his foe's features Rone could not believe what he saw, the Demon's eyes were unfocused, looking at something out of his vision, not focusing on him!

How dare this unclean heretic disrespect him by losing focus! Snarling in righteous fury the Sangheili warrior lunged forward his burning blade of plasma streaking forward, Rone would end this Demon's life and mount his armor above his bunk. No one would disrespect him, not even a worthy foe such as him! The next instance seemed to happen in slow motion for the Sangheili; the human's metallic blue eyes snapped back onto his opponent, tossing the curved blade into his right hand the human caught his extended wrist. Pulling the Sangheili warrior forward Rone could only watch as the human's iron grip tightened, watching as a thick grey armored elbow slammed into his outstretched arm. Intense pain flooded his arm, a strangled roar escaping Rone could do little as his blade slipped from his grasp. He sought revenge against the heretic, who dared to injury him in such a manor.

Except when the Special Operations Sangheili sought his opponent he found nothing but the outstretched barren wastes ahead of him, only when another sharp pain exploded through his leg did the realization dawn upon him. He allowed his rage and injury to distract him, allowed the heretic to exploit his weakness and take advantage of his failure. Collapsing to a knee as his leg gave out from under him he clenched his mandibles against together, the armored hand of his foe filling his vision.

As his foe gripped the exposed mandible of his helmet, Rone whispered a silent prayer to the Ancients as his world exploded into black.

Six dropped the now dead Elite warrior without a care, sparing it a briefly glance he began his mad dash away from the battlefield, stopping only briefly to retrieve his discarded weapons and damaged helmet. He had no idea where to go but he had little choice but to abandon the field, he was tired his muscles screaming for him to stop and rest. He could not stop, he could not rest. Not until he was away from the Covenant, perhaps reunited with whatever human resistance remained on Reach.

September 11th, 2552 06:23
160 klicks from Farkas Lake, Eposz, Reach.

Coughing slightly Six held back a retch as he casually tossed a small gray cylindrical tin over his shoulder, the sludgy grease coating the insides mixing with the once white sands. It tasted like the back-end of a tail pipe but it was better than starving. Rising from the rock he used as a makeshift stool, Six stared at his discarded food container; it was the last of the MREs he scavenged from the downed Pelican. The last bit of food he had, together with half a canteen of fresh water Six was running dangerously low on supplies, the past couple weeks of fighting and running had been extremely difficult. Ammunition was scarce equally as much as food, most of the military complexes were either glassed, occupied by significant Covenant opposition or empty. Removing his rifle from his back magnetic holster Six ejected the magazine, slipping each individual round from the magazine. Six rounds remained, the Spartan snorted derisively at the thought, Six had only six rounds. It was a stupid joke. Slamming the loaded cartridge into his gun, the Spartan watched the ammo counter cycle through random numbers before settling on his current count.

His pistol ammo fared no better, one full magazine remaining, he used another to put down an Elite who stumbled upon his scavenging. His weapons squared away he slipped his grey helmet back on, the cracked blue visor obscuring his features, during the week had had managed to restore the optics and audio to the shell although he could do little to repair the polarized composite at least the HUD functioned properly, even if the numerous cracks obscured a portion of his line-of-sight. Rapping his fist against his armored chest he riled himself up, his break was over he had a long way to go until he reached his destination.

September 11th, 2552 21:45
Sabre Program Launch/Research Range Farkas Lake, Eposz, Reach

There it was, after hours of walking and evasion, Six had finally reached his destination, the launch facility for the YSS-1000, the same craft he and Jorge used to take on the supercarrier. There had to be at least one remaining in dry-dock; it was his only chance off world. Any larger craft would be detected by the fleet and there was no chance of stowing away on one of their, who knew where he could end up. Activating his optics the Spartan scanned the entryway from his craggy post, nothing. There was nothing, even as he approached the facility through the same rock spire beach that Noble assaulted three weeks prior. Traces of Covenant blood still stained what was once a beautiful white beach, even the heavy imprints that Jorge's huge boots had made still remained, as if time itself froze in remembrance to the fallen. The Spartan encountered no resistance as he arrived at the entrance he and Noble used to penetrate the facility, unsure of the cause Six grunted in effort, as he had to pry the sealed entrance open. Inside the muted facility shone a pale orange, the facility sustained simply by emergency lighting, the emergency lighting the only source. Six's fist reverberated a loud thud as he vented his frustration against the bulkhead, it was too much to hope that facility remained unscarred from the invasion, he had to figure out a way to restore the power if his desperate plan held any hope of coming to fruition.

"Damn it."

Six was about to vent his agitation again when a soft crackle averted him, an incoming transmission. Keying up his tacpad the Spartan tried his best to clean up the signal, he was no electronics expert like Kat, but they did manage to pound some semblance of knowledge into him. Grinding his teeth the forgone frustration returned in full force, why was he so atrocious with electronics even a cadet could clean up basic interference the only thing he was good at was killing.

"-ble Six"

There! A brief window, a voice filtered through his speakers. The voice sounded vaguely familiar but Six could not place where. Moving out from under the metal awning the Spartan hoped it was merely interference from within the abandoned facility, the Covenant had obliterated most of the UNSC resources planet side but the Spartan hoped at least a signal relay satellite survived the armada.

"This is Noble Six to any UNSC forces. Please repeat your last. I say again this is Noble Six to anyone receiving this signal, respond. Over." The risk of calling out on an unsecured channel was immense, there was no other choice, and Six had nothing but his life to lose. He was alone; if there was someone left out there, he had to find him or her.

Six almost ripped his helmet off when the speakers in his helmet loudly whined, static and corrupted bits of audio bleating into his ears, his hopes riled for nothing. If anyone had survived the Covenant's vicious assault, no doubt he or she was too far away to render him any assistance. Even if they were close, enough it was a certainty that Covenant sensors sweeping the lands would locate and obliterate them. He was about to give up and improvise when the same voice filtered clearer through the communicator, it spoke in a clear calm dry voice. Instead of being a voice fueled by panic or despair it was a feminine voice, clearly synthetic. An artificial intelligence.

"Sierra-Three One Two please respond."

The SPARTAN-III stiffened at the call sign, very few people on Reach knew his Spartan serial number outside of Noble, to his knowledge only Jun-A266 survived. That only left… "Auntie Dot?"

"Acknowledged, it is a relief to see that you are unharmed." If the Spartan did not know any better he would have swore that the AI was actually relieved that he survived, but that wasn't possible. Auntie Dot was a "dumb" AI merely designed as a communication liaison and information database, she had no capacity for anything more at least, that is what Six had been taught.

"Sierra-Three One Two, geometric scans indicate your location at sector Five-D; Sabre Program Launch/Research Range. Please confirm."

Her sudden reveal of the Spartan's location caused his impatient pacing to end, his muscles tensing; the AI had just revealed his location over an open communication channel. Why would she do that, the Covenant would track her signal and swarm the base!

"Sierra-Three One Two, acknowledge." The AI paused, as if to think, a millisecond in reality but to him, it felt like a lifetime. "Sierra-Three One Two please do not worry. This connection is secure."

Six knew that the AI was incapable of lying to him but it seemed too convenient, how could Dot have accomplished such a feat?

"Noble Six, it would be preferable to withdraw from open space. Covenant patrols actively searching for survivors. My subroutines have been transferred onto a local server base side; we can discuss your plan within."

Narrowing his eyes Six complied reluctantly, Noble's AI companion was acting peculiar, even though his situation was dire, the Spartan refused to dismiss his paranoia. How did she know of his, "plan," granted there was little else he could do with his current situation but it still unnerved him how she knew what he was thinking. Reluctantly he followed the AI's direction, the waypoint on his heads-up display leading him down, with the main power disabled that ruled out using the elevators forcing him to descend into the bowels of the facility using the stairwell.

After the tenth landing Six stopped counting, letting his mind drift back to the AI, she had remained silent simply waiting for the soldier to arrive at the destination she had penned. Six was suspicious of the AI, was she leading him to a solution to his problem or a trap? Could an artificial intelligence lie? Did it have the capacity to deceive? Dot was a dumb AI, she was manufactured for a single purpose, and she simply did not have the capacity for anything else. Perhaps one of the UNSC's Smart AIs.

"Noble Six, we have arrived, please enter."

Said AI broke him from his paranoid-fueled speculation, they had reached the bottom floor staring at him was a thick door, a simple bronze plate affixed above it, "Server Room." Six doubted that this was the solution to his problem, this couldn't be were the generators were stored.

"Dot what are we doing he-"

"Enter Randolph."

Today was not Six's best day, from the frustration of finding his salvation a dud to the constant shock and suspicion Noble's AI kept pouring onto him, now with the utterance of his birth name Six was now truly on edge. Acting on instinct alone Six's hand slide to the pistol holstered on his thigh, in reality he knew that it was a futile action since she existed within a server and could do nothing to harm him, but the action still comforted him.

"Dot, what the hell."

"I did not mean to alarm you Noble Six, please, enter and I will explain."

As if on her vocal cue, the thick blast doors began to separate, screeching in protest as metal slide against natural rock. As they opened a fine mist of steam erupted from within the room, lined with towers of shelves rocketing above him lay the entire facility's servers, each housing an unimaginable amount of information vital to the UNSC effort. Although reluctant Six had little choice but to follow the strange AI's plan, the Spartan commando hoped that no one ever exposed the AI to ancient Earth cinematography.

If Auntie Dot started singing Daisy Bell, he was running as far away from the facility as his legs could take him. Covenant be damned.

And thus begins the start of a Halo/ME story. No ME bits yet but next chapter they'll be there. I am still on the fence regarding whether it should be MaleShep or FemShep, which ties into the possibility of pairings later in the story. MaleShep would romance Tali, leaving Six's romance undecided, but if Shep is female I could pair her with Six or Six with Tali.

I am totally not projecting my fantasies using Six as a medium…totally. Regarding Six's real name; Randolph is an old English name based off the two elements; "shield" or "rim" + "wolf". So Shield-Wolf, reference the Spartan's use as a bulwark to the Covenant invasion and Six being dubbed a, "Lone Wolf". It evolved from the Germanic version of Kai (keeper of the keys), to Richard (lion) and then to something a little simpler and more meaningful. Frankly, I don't care for the name Randolph but it flows with Six's situation. I may or may not change it depending on how flippant i feel like being later.

Let me hear you thoughts on that and any concerns you may have regarding the story or my poor writing.