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Cold, heartless sunlight turned the morning a pale shade of blue. Halley turned her eyes from it, scowling and muttering heartfelt curses under her now frosty breath. Paul sat a few meters away, watching a pot of coffee percolate. The marines sat hovered around it like men expecting a miracle; there was actually an audible sigh as the water began to change to brown. Micha and Francine were nowhere to be seen, and Halley got up onto her elbows with a supreme force of will.

"How long was I out?"

"Close to six hours, all in all. Night here doesn't seem very long, sun's been up for almost an hour." He poured a cup of coffee and walked in her direction, handing the mug over to a greedy smile. From the fire several marines were opening MREs with a vengeance, and one looked over towards the Spartans with one blond eyebrow cocked.

"Somehow I never pictured you guys eating and drinking like normal folk." As Halley downed the mug in one scalding swallow, the already washed out marine paled even further.

"We don't."

"Showoff." Paul's whisper was faint enough not to make it as far as the menagerie of military personnel, but the one person who could hear it flushed a little, between the reprimand and the heat the caffeine brought.

"Sorry, I know. This blue dwarf is just getting to me, that's all. Well, that and the helmet thing. God, I feel like an idiot for getting tagged like that." He clapped her shoulder and stood back up, offering a hand.

"Don't worry about it. After we get evac'd we'll send in for a new one. After all, considering the shape of my shield array, it'll probably be a few days in skins for all of us." Halley straightened, and ran an absent hand through her short hair. It didn't help that her size required minor adjustments to the typical MOLINIER armor, and though she could salvage most minor parts from her downed companion's suits, the one-size-fits-all helmet had to be custom sized for her smaller frame. Her shields were currently sporadic at best, and she couldn't count on her head taking any hits.

"I think it's about time we all got a break. God, a hot shower sounds fantastic…" She cut the conversation short as Micha jogged up.

"All right, we've got our target picked out, about twnty kilometers west of here is the remains of a fort; it's got a few elites, a few jackals and maybe six dozen grunts guarding it. From the look of things, the pulse that took out our cruiser might have taken their ship out too. They actually bothered to set up a campsite."

"I'm surprised they didn't come after us last night."

"Visibility was pretty low, and they seem kind of disorganized. I doubt they even thought to check. After all, they were only twenty kilometers away, and we didn't see them till this morning."

Halley chewed her lip thoughtfully, staring off to the west as though if she tried hard enough she could see right through the cliffs, then with a sharp nod she was all business again.

"All right, Paul, you're with me on Blue team, Fran, you're Green One. Keep your eyes peeled for banshees, I know at least one of them limped away from our last engagement. Paul and I will draw their attention as best we can, as soon as you're in the clear, Micha, get into that fort and salvage any communications equipment you can. Doubletime it back to our fallback position. No heroics, okay? Francine, keep him in your sights as long as you can, and pick off anyone with any ideas of heading back in the fort to check things out."

"Roger." Francine was crouched about a hundred meters to the west, and her voice came in scratchy over the com.

Halley glanced to her left, where Paul was starting to shift his balance to the balls of his feet, a trait he started showing whenever he was anxious to get started. "The com situation is going to be a problem, use your best judgment. Blue two, what do we have left in the way of explosives?"

"About a case of C4 and some land mines that may or may not still be functional."

"Alright, that'll have to do, we'll try to set it up to our best advantage when we get a better look at the terrain. Marine!" The blond man who'd asked about Spartan eating habits earlier got up and jogged over, serious now that three of the four remaining Spartans were standing around, two impassive face masks and one very stern woman's face focused on him.

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Got any good drivers?" He gave a small nod and jerked a thumb back to the fire. "Philippe there is the best damn driver I've ever seen. Flipped a warthog once and managed to get it back on the tires all in the same move." Halley nodded approvingly.

"He'll do. I want him to stay within ten kilometer of our target at our fallback position, and tell him to keep his ears to the com. We may need a quick evac, but I don't want to waste our last warthog if we don't have to. He's only to come in if we call for him, got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"All right, fall out, gear up, we start this operation in fifteen." She turned on her heal and headed for the warthog, salvaging what equipment she could, feeling a wash of sadness at the sniper rifle sitting on the passenger seat. Kim had been their sniper, agile but patient; she'd considered it an insult if she used more ammo then kills. Her rifle, now a lonely sight, still had a splatter of blood and a smear of coolant fluid from when she'd been pierced by a covenant carbine. Halley lifted the weapon in one hand, and handed it over her shoulder without looking. Francine took it from her hands, and checked to see that it was still fully loaded. Halley grabbed a med kit and attached it to her belt, then looked up to see her teams fully assembled and ready to go. A glow of pride and a pang of regret, and she pulled herself together. The marine climbed into the driver's seat with a nervous chuckle, and she nodded to him once.

"All right people, this is it." She shouldered the pack of explosives and started jogging towards the west.






For Teghli of the Ungoy, the day was about as good at a day could be when one was stranded on a deserted planet with no means of escape; and surprisingly he was enjoying himself. The humans were all dead, and his stomach was growling at the prospect of no food for a while, but the air was crisp and cold, the ambient blue light cast by the plane's small blue star was reassuring to his methane-breathing companions. It was much easier on the eyes than those stupid yellow stars that humans classically chose for their homeworlds. Not far away, soft whispers of Ungoy snores drifted from his companions, and though he was supposed to be on watch, he decided that a quick nap would do him good. After all, the Sanghelli wouldn't punish everyone if they all went to sleep. Secure in his safety, he curled up with a little yawn; only to be interrupted before he could drift off. It looked as though something was moving between the two short hills not far away, and with a grumpy snort he got up and glanced over, just to be safe.

Something was moving on the edge of camp, smaller than a Sanghelli but bigger than an Ungoy, its skin some sort of greenish plates and a human's head…a human's head? Pale blue-ish hair sprouted from the top of a pale face, and it's demented eyes were focused right on him. A small human weapon lifted and pointed at him, and the demon's soft voice cut through the morning air with an odd sound like a bubble popping mixed with a heavy exhalation.

"Boo."

"ENEMY!!! Enemy here!!! Aahhh!!!" Teghli screeched in terror, waking his companions frantically, as the demon bared it's evil teeth and dashed away towards the twin hills. His courage returning in the light of its retreat, he pointed to the hills and screamed. "We go!"

Halley counted steps as she ran, weaving back and forth through the newly set minefield and sliding down to a halt next to Blue two, who was holding the detonator. Each land mine had been paired with a small amount of C4 in the hopes that they would all go up together, and he crouched in the small frozen gully fifteen meters back from the miniature peaks. He watched and lifted the small plastic shield from the detonator; thumbing it just as the wave of grunts charged down the center.

The terrain was mostly slate, and both hills blew open towards each other, and the grunts that survived the initial explosion were buried an the resulting landslide. Halley tapped her com, missing her helmet keenly, and watched the rising dust cloud with a feeling of satisfaction. "Green two, you are a go."

She leaped from the gully, hefting two SMGs and walking calmly towards the ruined land formation, a few quick shots finishing off the struggling creatures. No reason to leave them to a slow painful death, as far as she was concerned. Some Spartans got edgy about that, wanting individual grunts to suffer in agony for the sake of the innocent humans killed in the war, but in Halley's opinion there had been enough suffering in the universe already. The methane-breathing aliens were just soldiers doing their job, after all. Paul followed behind, and she heard him drop to a crouch, following suit even though she couldn't see the immediate threat.

She glanced over her shoulder, and he lifted one hand to his faceplate, making a quick motion like grabbing a beak, then held up two fingers and pointed one towards the left hill. She nodded almost imperceptibly; pointed to him, then the side of the hill, then herself and up. She followed it with her palm flat out, and a motion like she was pushing something against the ground. He gave a thumbs-up, and started to move out cautiously, staying low to the ground. She crept up the slate hill, trying not to dislodge anything else, and got into position over and behind the two jackals that were trying to sneak around. Blue two rolled into sudden view, and fired at the jackals, who lifted their shields quickly. They only got off two shots before Halley leapt down, firing the whole decent. Their purple blood splattered against the inside of their shields, and they went down.

Blue two was flat on the ground, and rolled up as Halley jogged over, and they looked down at the splash of a burn over his shoulder.

"Damnit, that hurt. Shield only absorbed the first hit before going out." He grabbed one of the jackal's wrist pieces, hitting two buttons and watching the glimmering wall of green light. "It's not subtle, but it'll do. Shit. Elites." He shoved Halley with his good arm, and rolled in the opposite direction as a rain of plasma bolts filled the space where they had been. Her SMGs started going off as he got the borrowed equipment in place, shooting at the two blue skinned aliens from behind his new green barrier. An overcharged plasma bolt took out one Elite's protection, and Halley finished him off with the SMGs, but the clicking of two empty clips heralded serious danger. The remaining Elite charged up the hill and hit the smaller Spartan like a truck, rolling down the far side.

Paul ran up the hill as fast as he could, squelching the fear for his companion lest it cloud his reactions. In the shallow depression between the slate hills, the Spartan and the elite struggled, the larger warrior with its hands around her neck, and her green fists slamming in quick punches to his face. She managed to get her legs out from under it and planted her feet against its chest. She pushed with all her might, grabbing its wrists and trying to pry them off her throat. She was weakening though, and started kicking at the Elite's neck in desperation. Paul couldn't fire into the melee safely; but he ran down the hill, the small plasma weapon dropping as he pulled a pistol, and with all his magnified strength, slammed the back of the alien's scull in. He tossed the pistol in the air, catching it in a better grip for firing, and kicked the elite off Halley, who groaned and coughed. Alive, that's what mattered.

"You okay?"

"Bruised, battered and broken." Her voice was raspy, and an ugly purple mark was visible on the slight bit of her throat that was visible. "In other words, fine." She managed a grin, and got to her feet. Her face fell as she looked over Paul's shoulder. "Oh Fu--"

A crack rang through the air even as the banshee screamed down on their position; the elite piloting it fell out and landed three meters ahead of them, the banshee crashing into the gully behind. Green one's voice came over the com.

"--green t-- has th- --akage, falling ba-- -ow"

"Roger that. Blue one out."
Paul checked out the downed banshee as Halley policed the remaining covenant guns, and shook his head. "Handling's shot. No good, it would take a pilot better than me to make this thing go where they wanted." He kicked it, and headed back to the east, an occasional glance over his shoulder.

Halley started after, and noticed something moving in the pile of rubble. A grunt hand cleared itself off, and it looked up at her from the ground, hands shaking. Weaponless. Helpless. Terrified. Halley hefted one SMG, loading it with her last spare clip. Something seemed wrong about this. She debated for a moment, and decided she just couldn't. Instead she looked it dead in the eyes, and crouched down to its level.

"Do you have a translation program? Can you understand me?"

Teghli nodded, afraid to lie, as the demon (though less frightening when it's teeth weren't bared and it didn't seem much bigger then him) spoke to him.

"Next time you see a helpless human, like you are helpless now, you don't kill it, you got that?"

He nodded quickly, thinking how stupid the demon must be.

"I know you're thinking that once I'm gone you don't have to keep your word, but you will. You have a scar on your face right there," she pointed with her gun, and it's terror caused its hands to start shaking again, "and I'll remember that. If you don't keep your word, I swear by all that's holy I will hunt you down and killing you will be the last and kindest thing I do. Understood?"

She swore by all that was holy! Did humans and demons believe in holy, then? Enough to swear by it? And more frighteningly, if a demon dared to invoke the name of founders, then they must REALLY mean it. Teghli nodded quickly.

"I will! No kill human without guns! I hear! I promise!"

Halley suppressed a sigh. She must be an idiot to take the thing at its word. But she couldn't just murder it in cold blood (the irony of the statement not lost on her) because that would make her no better than the covenant themselves. She stood back up, and turned her back to it deliberately, jogging after Paul.

That she might have just planted the seed of heresy never even crossed her mind.









Micha looked at the collection of communications equipment, picturing the multitude of pieces in his mind along with various ways he could put them together to make a signal. The planet's screwed up magnetism wasn't helping either. Finally, he decided, and glanced over at Francine, who was cleaning the sniper rifle with a sort of reverence. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and she slumped against him with a heavy sigh. As far as any of them knew, they were the only Spartans in the history of the program with any previous relation; second cousins in a very large family. They had met once or twice before their conscription, and in those early days they had clung to anything familiar. It made them a very effective team, and it was probably the only reason she had survived the augmentation. She remembered the end of the process, fading in and out of consciousness, one spark refusing to give in. She refused to die, even as her body rebelled, because she didn't want Micha to be alone. She'd been fortunate that the only problem was a viral infection run amok in her system; had it been one of the bad reactions like her bones twisting or her heart swelling up to massive proportions no amount of willpower would have helped.

"I think I've got it." She straightened back up, feeling reassured, and tilted her head.

"Got what?"

"I can refine this transmitter into a burst transmission, one message, but it'll go further then if I just have it screaming out continuously. It'll probably make it intact past the planets atmosphere, and if anyone passes through the system, they'll get it. One problem, the encryption will have to be petty basic, or else it'll be totally scrambled by the time anyone gets it." He looked up as Halley walked over, gesturing at the salvage. "Any ideas?"

"Sure. We record the message and play it backwards." Halley grinned. "It might just confuse the covenant translators, and I'm sure any human AI would pick up on it no problem."

"That sounds like a stupid idea but I love it." Micha couldn't help but laugh. "I'd give almost anything to be the one to tell them they wasted time trying to decode a backwards message. You're right though; it wouldn't be any more scrambled than if we played it without encryption, and if there isn't a human ship up there we're dead anyway."

"My thoughts exactly." The MREs were running in short supply now, and the nine marines were starting to look rather fatalistically at the situation. Though the Spartans weren't even taking their share, food would run out in a few days. The planet's hostile environment hadn't produced much in the way of wildlife, and after the assault on the old human fort the day before; camp had been moved closer to a cliff edge sixteen kilometers southeast of their last position. There hadn't been much in the way of retribution yet, but that couldn't last long. The marine carrying the "football," a silver case containing the founder's artifact that had been found here was looking haggard and depressed, his buzzed hair starting to grow back in with a fury. It added to the scruffy, wild look, and constantly shifting eyes telegraphed his obvious anxiety.

Why the UNSC was so frantic to get a hold of a little clear rock with some ancient writings on it wasn't exactly known to the Spartans or the marines, but the soldier carrying it was also carrying a small nuke in the same case. It was his job to blow himself and the artifact up if the covenant got the upper hand. Having that kind of responsibility wasn't easy on anyone, not even a battle-hardened lifer.

Micha started putting together the communications beacon, crossing all sorts of wires in a pattern that looked like gibberish to anyone without electrician's training, and to those with, it looked like a cross between absolute genius and paramount stupidity. It took an effort of faith to trust that he knew what he was doing, but one of the long-term benefits of the hellish training that Spartans underwent as children was the instillation of just that sort of absolute conviction in one another's abilities. Halley recorded the message and had it set to backwards play, and after sacrificing the power cells of most of the plasma pistols Francine had the jury-rigged power supply prepped for the transmission. Paul cut through the com moments after the setup was finished, and his message wasn't good.

"I see two banshees flying in formation, and there's obviously some ground troops under them. I think they're prepping an assault."

"Well, our good luck couldn't last forever." Halley transmitted the message into the burst relay, and Micha keyed the last sequence in. There was a soft hum followed by a loud rushing sound, and the message was shot into the atmosphere. The power cells started sparking, and the Spartans backed off to a safe distance. The tiny green cells shattered in unison even as the communications array melted to slag under it's own stresses. There was a feeling of finality, and Fran crossed her fingers.

"Here's hoping." She shouldered a battle rifle and glanced down the incline to where Paul was situated, and glanced at the smaller Spartan to her right. "What do you think, Hal? Stay here and get shot to shit, but be here if the UNSC finds us? Or clear out and find another hiding spot?"

"We stay." Nightfall was only a short while away, and as the blue sun was setting behind the cliff, a burst of color, a beautiful aurora borealis in shades of violet and green started to dance overhead. "We can't survive here much longer anyway. But for what it's worth, it's been an honor serving with you."

"And a pleasure." Fran clapped her on the shoulder warmly, and Micha nodded as well.

"Lets go kill some covenant."

The Marines fell back closer to the cliff edge, and everyone settled in for the next tense few minutes.








"Well, that's weird."

Master Chief 117 glanced up from the console he'd been skimming through, Cortana's miniature transparent blue hologram standing beside him on a pedestal designed for just that purpose. The Resplendent was a new top-of-the-line cruiser on her maiden voyage, giving the Chief and Cortana a ride to the new UNSC base being built to replace Reach. Given the more recent success at the second Halo and Earth, the remaining Spartans were currently helping establish the new training grounds, defenses, and living spaces for the refugees of humanity. Now that Earth had been found and invaded, even if the invaders had been driven back, plenty of people were signing up with the UNSC to protect their home. What had been a fight for space was now the fight to defend home.

John looked back down at the battle report from the initial attack on Earth, the casualty figures and reported ship losses. As he scrolled down, one ship name caught his eye, the Avenger had gone down with all hands aboard. A slight pang of regret rang in his mind; the memory of a pretty young tech and the invitation in her expression was one of the little pieces of beauty that he kept close in times of stress. The reminder of why he fought this war, for all those innocent lives who didn't deserve to be taken. He glanced up again at Cortana, and behind the impassive faceplate, raised an eyebrow.

"What's weird?"

"I just got a burst transmission from deeper in the system we're passing through, it's a little damaged but it's definitely human. The encryption level is awful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's just the message played backwards."

The Chief blinked in surprise, memories of Mendez saying that sometimes you had to think outside the box playing through his head. "What's the message?"

"I've cleaned it up as best I can…"

"…I repeat, this is Petty Officer First Class Spartan-292, UNSC recognition code 007-1564-apha priority. This is an emergency distress call from the second planet in the Diphen system, we are stranded planet side and under covenant assault. If there are any UNSC personnel on the receiving end of this message, we are in desperate need of evacuation," there was an infinitesimal pause of gathering breath, "Please. We need help. I have three wounded marines down here, and we're almost out of supplies. If anyone can hear me, we don't have much time left. …I repeat, this is Petty---"

John stood absolutely still, the message drowned out by blood rushing through his ears.

"See, It's weird, I didn't think there were any Spartans with a higher sequence number than 150." She put her hands on her hips, and tilted her head. "The recognition code pans out though. Those sneaky Section Three bastards hid the information under a shipping and receiving order that's been hanging out in the backlogs. I never bothered to open the file; I didn't think it could hold anything important. But according to this, Petty Officer Halley-292 is a real person." A pause. "You okay there Chief?"

It wasn't the message, or even the idea that he'd finally learned that the younger generation of Spartans actually existed. The voice in the recording sounded exhausted and scratchy, but his razor sharp memory recognized it, put a face to it. Given what he'd just been thinking before Cortana gave him the message it was downright creepy. "I know her."

Cortana raised a holographic eyebrow and shifted her "weight" to one hip. "Oh you do?"

"Yeah. I met her on the Avenger. Didn't know she was a Spartan." The memory of her face and the slim figure screaming femininity even in spite of a tech uniform cut to mask gender; ice blue eyes and the scent of something that was not perfume. A scent that had swamped his senses and given him some peculiar dreams… "She's pretty tiny for a Spartan, actually."

"Hurmph. Anyway, the message was in a burst, played three times, then crapped out. I figure it only got sent a few minutes ago."

"Captain?" John opened his com and started walking quickly towards the bridge. "Cortana is about to send you a message."

"Already got it, Chief. We're changing course. The Pelican leaves in ten minutes and I want you aboard."

"Yes sir, I'm on my way."




"Ah shit." The marines were set on the cliff edge in a defensive position, and from what Carl could see the Spartans were making quick work of the grunts. One Elite, however, had broken rank and was charging their position. Carl hefted a stolen plasma grenade, hit the button, and chucked it as hard as he could. His disbelief as it stuck to the Elites armor caused him to should in glee.

Then in alarm.

The Elite hadn't slowed down any, and when the grenade went off, it was going to kill everyone around it. Carl shut his eyes tight and readied to die. A blur of green charged up the hill after the Elite, and slammed it forward past the marine's foxhole and right off the cliff. He caught a glimpse of white hair and green armor, and felt horror grip his gut as the Spartan, her momentum too much to stop, went over the edge too. He ignored the danger and went to the cliff, hoping against hope that she'd grabbed something to keep her from falling to her death. Far, far below, there was a small beach at the foot of the embankment. Water lapped at slate gray rocks, and a pathetically small armored figure lay with one arm at an impossible angle.

Gray, white, and green. And then, he shut his eyes and forced back tears.

The rocks were also covered in red.




"Gunners, take out those ground troops!" The Pilot eased the Pelican down to the ground as the last of the covenant fell under the surprise assault from above. He'd barely touched down before the hatch was opened and the Chief stepped out, walking with agile grace towards the small group of people hunched around a ruined warthog. Another Spartan stood, just as big as the Chief but with subtle movements that he didn't recognize. It was eerie to see, his whole life had been spent among the same people in that same gear. To meet someone in MOLINIER armor that he didn't recognize was a lot like de'ja'vou.

"I guess you got our message, sir?" The man's voice sounded oddly tight, like he was holding back emotion.

"Yes, we did. We're here to pull you out." A glance around showed to more Spartans and several marines, but no UNSC FOF tag had the name "Halley" attached. "Where's the Petty Officer who sent the message?"

"She's dead, sir." John felt that pain in his chest that he got whenever he lost a comrade. "Lost her about twenty minutes ago, two kilometers north of here. There's…a cliff. She went over."

"Saved our lives, too." A marine with a bandage around his head and a briefcase cuffed to his wrist stepped forward.

"…hey Paul…" the whisper across the com drew the Spartan's gaze back from where they'd come from.

"HALLEY? I hear you, Halley where are you?" He tried to keep from sounding frantic.

Cortana muttered to herself, and then spoke up in the Chief's armor. "I triangulated the signal, it's coming from that cliff they talked about."

"…dosen't much matter. Pretty beach, though….got a great view of the aurora borealis….always wanted to see one…" Her whisper strengthened a little, and he could hear a wet cough she tried to muffle. "Get out of here, I'm done for. Live and fight another day, okay? If you ever do meet 117…do me a favor and tell him he's got a sexy voice." She laughed, strained but genuine, and ending in a cough. "I'll miss you guys…" She trailed off, and Paul took a step north before the Chief grabbed his arm.

"No. You're in no condition to go back for her."

"Damn you, no! I'm not leaving her behind!"

"No, you're not. I'm going after her."

Paul stared a moment, then looked at the Pelican. His right arm sagged down, the burn hurting horribly, and Micha and Francine weren't much better off. He nodded, and stepped towards the landing craft.

John glanced around, and saw a battered Banshee that had bits of gore in the cockpit and a little hole from a sniper shot. He thumbed the controls and the small ship hummed to life. Cortana made a disapproving sound in his head.

"You sure about this? There might still be covenant around."

"I'm sure."




Halley watched the last of the blue sunset, propped up against the cliff edge. A series of hardy vines grew all along it's base, and she's used one to pull herself into a sitting position. White-hot pain had knocked her out cold for a while, but she'd come to in time to say goodbye. Her lower lip was red with blood, and her right arm was clearly broken in spite of the metal bonded to the bone. A ruptured panel in her midsection had poured blood and cooling fluid all over the rocks around her, the wound just up and under her ribs. Punctured lung definitely, and possibly collapsed, a gut wound that bled like crazy and was taking her a damn long time to die, and a concussion for certain. She knew her chances, and she didn't want any of the others climbing down the cliff to save her or die with her, the drop was suicidal.

Her vision was starting to blur, but over the pounding of blood in her head she could hear the whine of a banshee. She hefted her battle rifle in what passed for a good arm, tears of frustration and agony trying to get out. A figure was walking along the beach towards her, blue-green and huge. She lifted the rifle and it paused, but the armor failed her and she couldn't squeeze the trigger. One hot tear escaped her control and she faced her death with a defiant grimace.

Not many things could move a Spartan emotionally. Even fewer could bring one to tears on sight alone. John stood on the slate beach and faced a sight that only Cortana would ever know actually brought him to that point. It wasn't because of who she was. It was because he'd lost so many friends. So many had died alone. Some had fallen to their deaths on Reach. And his best friend, Sam, had died staying behind on a covenant ship. These things all crowded his memory, his grief for the Spartans as a whole summed up in that heart-wrenching image. Pale, bloodless face, lips stained red and one trickle of blood down her chin, spatters of oil and blood and dirt on her cheeks, white hair stained all those same colors. Her armor broken and one arm hanging limp, agony written on a face so beautiful it didn't belong in the army, and one clean mark down the side of her face where a single tear had cut a path. Utter defiance of death, a shaking battle rifle held at arms length; Halley was, in that moment, the living personification of how a Spartan died.

John knelt as hot tears poured out of his own eyes, and he took the rifle out of her hands. She looked at him in confusion, and he lifted one hand to the side of her face to wipe her tears away.

"Come on kid, we're not going to let you die today." He lifted her, wincing as she cried out in agony, choking her cries off with a hiccup. He carried her as he would a child, away from the place where she'd fallen.







AIs didn't allow emotions free reign most of the time, they shut them off when they were uncomfortable. Cortana had to do just that as she saw what the Chief saw; felt what the chief felt. The caring was different. It wasn't how he cared when he though about her, she knew that. It was the love he had for fellow Spartans, even ones he'd never met. Uncomfortable with the realization, Cortana shut off her emotional subroutines and vowed to keep them that way for a long time.

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