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Sabotage (Espionage Part 1)
Date: 17 September 2007, 6:31 pm
There were seven people in the room, but only one would be leaving it alive.
The six that were to die, although blissfully unaware of it, were accompanied by an undercover Spartan. It seemed highly unappropriate to use a Spartan to do a Spy's job, but the situation called for it.
ONI Section 3 had recently become aware of a dissident faction within the UNSC Ranks, and were determined to dispel it before it could swell and cause even more crippling damage to the already-failing UNSC.
"So, Mike, you never did tell us. Were you just that tall your whole life, or what?"
'Mike' remained silent, as he was ordered to.
"Mike, I demand you to reply."
"Yes sir, I was, but I'm a bodyguard. I'm only here to protect you."
"And damn glad I am you are, too. I don't think we're very safe anymore,"
Mike couldn't help smiling.
"What's so funny, lanky?" The voice sounded like a challenge.
"Just... you're in no danger while I'm here."
He didn't like these men. It wasn't just that he was uneasy around the enemy, he just didn't like them. They exuded a nasty air. The conversation continued, and Mike recorded it all.
'Mike' was Spartan G-057. His real name was Paul and he was 32. He'd not seen much heavy combat, the 'excellers' were left for those jobs.
Mike decided he'd had enough, and he'd got enough information.
"As fun... Infact, no. Not fun. As BORING as this is, I've got people to kill."
"Whatchoo talking about, Mike?"
"I mean you, fatass,"
The six bosses looked desperately around for their weapons. Mike had taken care of that.
He pushed a button and the doors locked.
"Mike, I didn't mean all those jokes i said." begged one of them.
"Ohhh, I know you did, you prick, and by the way, i WASN'T born this tall, I'm a godforsaken Spartan. Nice story. Now you die."
He pulled out a MD-7 Handgun and levelled it at his first target. Six shots were fired, and so the six bodies fell.
Now came the hard part.
He opened the storage cupboard and pulled out his MJOLNIR armour. It was a newer model, newer than the Master Chief's current one. He grabbed an assault rifle from the bag of weapons, and unlocked the doors. Predictably, three armed guards came running in. Paul slammed his fist into the face of the nearest one, propelling him away and breaking his nose at once. He fired a trio of shots into the torso of the next guard, and kicked the remaining guard in the privates, unfortunately neutering him for life.
'Minimal casualties', they had said. He strode round the corner and saw an unarmed guard. The guard held his hands up in defence, and began whimpering. Paul sneered and knocked the man out. He picked up a shotgun from a nearby weapons rack and began walking through storage. The walls were plastered with racks carrying dated UNSC weapons, and several odd ones he had never seen before. He began running as alarm bells began screeching. A soldier came round the corner, but retreated when he saw Paul. Paul grabbed some ammo for his assault rifle and a couple of M9 grenades, and went the opposite way to which the soldier had came from.
One soldier meant more.
He turned around and saw a group of soldiers approaching. He pulled the trigger of the shotgun, peppering them with shots. One took a shot in the face and stumbled back, screaming. The soldiers tended to their fallen comrade while Paul made his escape. he sprinted down a bleach-white corridor, with doors opening on his sides. He didn't pause to fight, as he saw the main lobby looming. He saw soldiers struggle with the doors and picked up his speed. He smashed through the half-closed doors and began shooting. Soldiers fell instantly, and again he rushed toward the closing doors. The blast door slammed shut, thankfully, behind him. The following room was empty, and he left the base virtually alone. He stepped out into the glowing sunlight of Lille City. He threw his rifle and shotgun back inside and closed the door behind him.
The street was bustling with businessman and rich retired entrepeneurs. Lille wasn't exactly anyone's town. That's probably why the dissidents were situated here.
Hardly incognito.
He walked up to the top of the street, where a civilian warthog was parked, with a hooded driver.
"Is the job done?" The driver asked in a husky southern accent.
"You could say that..." Paul replied.
The 'hog drove them out of the city to a small rocky outcrop, where a Pelican was landed. Paul stepped on board, heading back to UNSC HQ.
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