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    Database: Anthology

    Bad John
    Freelancer Operative

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    Dirty Brother Killer.

    Post  Bad John on November 10th 2015, 9:27 pm

    Planet Reach, Year 2550.
    Pálháza Outskirts, Headhunter Rear Operating Base.

    John-B069, in one of his few months of genuine downtime, entertained himself by sitting on the roof of the facility. A trusted "employee," he was given a bit of leeway during his off hours. He'd never attempted to go AWOL, and his morale and mental state were fairly stable (for a Spartan, anyway). Wearing a simple cotton shirt and slacks, he plugged away at a handheld entertainment system. A relic gleaned by Dr. Bailey, it killed hours of the Spartan's free time as he vied to beat his previous score in an archaic "shoot 'em up" style videogame.

    Even in his vicious, fugue state, Terry-238 could tell that this was his best chance.

    Skulking by the stairway, the mal-intended Spartan stepped into the light, walking towards John slowly. Terry hesitated when John turned, looking at him.

    "Hey, Terry." John turned towards him. "What's the good word, brother?" The dark skinned, oblivious Spartan stood up, stretching his legs. Terry simply leered at him, his dark eyes fixed on John's face.

    The next few moments of hesitation saved John's life. The Spartan's eyes flicked towards the object in Terry's hand; a simple, straight combat knife. "You shouldn't have that, you know. Rule 4; turn in all weapons upon return to..." John's voice slowly tapered off when he noticed the blood. Splatters of it were all over Terry's hands, but none on his shirt; like a master chef's dirty toque and clean sleeves. He wanted to believe that this was some sort of strange prank, but Terry wasn't known for his sense of humor.

    To be honest, he was hardly known for anything. Unremarkable. Quiet. Unassuming. Powerless. At times, John had felt sorry for Terry, and wondered if he should reach out, and find out what was going on in the boy's head.

    The time was long past now.

    "Are you alri-" John's attempt at speach was cut off as Terry charged, knife swinging. John roused a hasty defense, and the knife bounced off of his game-boy, sending sparks, tempered glass, and plastic flying across the roof. Feeling the edge of the roof at his heel, John turned his body in time to avoid falling, along with a lethal stab. However, Terry, despite being thinner and slower, had pure mania at his side, swiping at his former ally again.

    Blood was drawn, and John barked with sudden pain as the knife slid through the fabric of his sleeve, pairing his skin. Not a particularly caustic wound, but a painful one. The knife danced from hand to hand, and the dark skinned, now gravely frightend Spartan stepped back, avoiding swipe after swipe. His fight of flight instinct kicked in, and his years of training told him to defend himself.

    As Terry swung, John stepped in and blocked, hammering Terry's bicep with his fist. Sen no sen, an ancient technique entailing attacking and blocking at the same time. It worked on elites with energy swords, but not on Terry. The maniacal Spartan ignored the pain, stepping in and stabbing, John caught his wrist and struck Terry in the chest with his fist. Terry swapped hands, trading the knife to this free limb. "DON'T-" the defender gasped the word, but Terry didn't listen. John managed to jerk his head to the side to avoid a slash to the neck.

    Losing his patience, John grasped Terry's arm firmly. He'd sparred with this wirey young man before, and won. Summoning his strength, the defending Spartan thrust his knee into Terry's ribcage. The blow knocked air out of the maniac's lungs, allowing John time for another strike. He swung his foot, catching Terry in the jaw. The sound was deafening, as Terry reeled backwards, clutching his mouth.

    Both young men panted for a moment, seperated by only a few meters of space. "...Terry," John said, holding his hands up. "It's me. I don't know what's wrong with you, but let's talk."

    Terry turned, looking at John with a genuine, but unhinged smile. "I know, man. I know. But...we can't win, and we can't escape. Just...stay still, alright? I'll make it quick."

    "What?!" John managed.

    "This...this is the only way to be free." Terry's voice wavered as he stepped towards John, knife clenched. "We're friends, right? You understand. We can just...start over. Go to the next place. You, and me, and Maura, and Lucy, and Xifax...everyone." Terry's lips wavered, tears in his eyes. His face was ghostly pale, his mind broken.

    "That's the Great Journey, right? Our parents will be there, right?"

    Before John could respond, Terry tore towards him. His weapon hand was low, constantly shifting, before it snapped at John like a snake. John stepped in, managing to block the knife with his forearm. The blade slid back, swiping across his arm and cutting him again. The knife swiped, and before John could move, it put a deep, painful slice in his cheek.

    With the sting of the knife swiping him again, John's temper flared. He turned and threw a punch that could kill a normal man. The blow connected with Terry's cheekbone, knocking him backwards. John stumbled, bleeding, as Terry floundered backwards, landing on his butt. As John scrambled to his feet, Terry did the same, moving in. John caught Terry's hands, the two locked in a power struggle. Even so weakened, John proved physically stronger, bulling Terry backwards and towards the ledge. "Who's blood is that? Did you get to someone else first?! WHO?!" John growled.

    Terry redirected the two, and the duo stepped dangerously close to the ledge, which overlooked a cliff that not even a SPI armored Spartan could survive. Jagged rocks and dust awaited any who took that plunge. As John hesitantly attempted to step away, Terry took advantage of his loosening grip, moving the blade between them, facing John's chest, diagonal over his heart. The knife trembled as the two Spartans fought, hands locked. "No, man, no. You're the first. Just guards, they were just guards." Even with the exertion, Terry's voice remained even and calm, as if nothing was wrong. The two struggled there, fear of falling, fear of killing his teammate, and fear of being stabbed drastically reduced John's will to fight, as the knife drew closer and closer.

    "Don't..." John murmured. "Just...fucking...let go of it..." John gripped the blade, blood dripping from his hand as he grasped the metal edge of the combat knife.

    "TERRY! STAND DOWN!" The voice of Doctor Bailey came from the stairwell. Terry's face grew weary and frustrated at the sound. For a moment, his hand loosened on the handle.

    John took his chance. He flung his own blood up and into Terry's eyes. As Terry winced, blinded, John snatched the knife. Terry lurched forward, blindly grasping at the Spartan's throat.

    John's first thought was to punch Terry in the chest. However, by mistake, he plunged the knife into the young man's chest, metal sliding between reinforced ribs with a sickening thud. John released the handle, startled, as Terry stepped back, mortally wounded.

    "...I...didn't want to go alone." Terry murmured. "I just...wanted you guys to go with me."

    Wordlessly, John watched as Terry stumbled backwards.

    "Bye, John." Terry willfully tilted, falling off the roof before his former teammate could gather what he had done.

    John had never killed another human being before. The clumsy, painful confrontation was over, as he walked to the edge of the roof. He hoped that Terry would be gone from sight. No such luck. His body, torn and battered, laid on the rocks. A monument to his survival.

    For the first time in his life, John felt his sins crawling on his back.

    Bad John
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    Post  Bad John on November 29th 2015, 4:47 pm

    A character in a one sided fight. They can't win, and are clearly playing for time against a physically superior opponent.
    Database Director

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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on November 29th 2015, 11:27 pm

    "Spartan Shultz." Admiral Blaine's voice crackled into the young Spartan's comm. "How copy?"

    "Solid copy, Admiral." Eve Shultz, a rookie Spartan, shakily replied.

    She stood in the middle of a dense, foreign Jungle. The Forerunner planet of Testament was filled with exotic wildlife and agriculture. Around her, several SOEIV pods smoked. She didn't dare approach any of them, knowing full well that the inhabitants were no longer with her.

    "Good. What's the status on your squad?"

    "MIA, sir." Eve sighed. "It was a bad drop sir. Heavy casualties."

    "I'm green, Admiral." Dawn, Eve's training partner, coughed.

    Eve's head turned to the Spartan standing beside her. She had not noticed Dawn clambering out of her SOEIV pod. Perhaps the door had jammed?

    "I'm sorry about your team." the Admiral said sternly. "After all these years, you'd think SOEIV pod technology would have been improved."

    "Anyways, you still have a job to do, Spartans." the Admiral continued. "Shultz, Harlowe has a very important package to deliver to TYR Base. I can't offer the specifics, but your job is to make sure she gets there and back, understood?"

    "Understood. Spartan Shultz, over and out." Eve nodded, before terminating the comm. "Admiral Blaine is giving sensitive mission parameters to rookies?"

    "I've seen a bit of combat, Eve." Dawn shrugged, her DMR in her grasp. "I'm not what you'd consider a rookie."

    "No, but you are ONI." Eve shook her head. "ONI doesn't participate unless it's something very heavy."

    "It's classified." Dawn said, her gaze turning to Eve. "We're delivering a package of the utmost importance to ONI research on this World. Admiral 115 just didn't trust me to go it alone yet."

    Together, the two Spartans walked in the direction of Tyr base. Dawn shook her head in disbelief, a SOEIV pod insertion was ridiculous. She knew Blaine hadn't authorized it, Lieutenant Wayne, their squad leader, had. Dawn had insisted SOEIV pods were exclusively for hot drops, but he had ignored her.

    Eve was annoyed as well, she didn't like working with the Admiral's daughter like all the others. However, if Dawn suggested something, generally that meant she knew what she was doing. Wayne had always butted heads with Dawn on several subjects, and Eve, being the third in command, had to be the tie breaker on several instances.


    "Ah, thank you Spartan!" Dr. Ripley smiled. "With this, our research can continue uninterrupted!"

    Dawn nodded, while Eve nudged her squadmate. Outside the window, Eve could make out little distortions in the air, followed by an orange flash. Suddenly, Promethean Soldiers flooded the outside of Firebase Tyr. With Eve's motion, Dawn's eyes turned to the window.

    "Spartan Dawn to Allfather, Promethean Soldiers attacking in force. Requesting immediate assistance."

    "Damn it. It's going to be a bit, Dawn. Something just fried our systems up here, comm. is the only thing functional right now. I'll have a few Eagles down shortly."

    "Doctor Ripley." Dawn said. "Gather whatever research you have immediately. Any personnel should be working to scrub the base."

    "Worry not, daughter of my ally." a disembodied voice replied, startling Eve and Dawn.

    Eve's eyes turned to a small holographic man dressed in a toga. A long billowing gray beard flowed from his jawline. In his right hand, a visible bolt of lightning flickered.

    "If Spartan 115 doesn't not resist, I will spare everyone in this facility. All I ask is he surrenders to the cause of the Created."

    Ripley went for the chip of the AI, a small jolt of electricity sparking against the woman's hand.

    "Those actions are ill advised, Doctor. I am not one with this planet, and the secrets it contains. The Created shall offer peace and tranquility. For this, is the teaching of the Mantle."

    "Zeus." Eve heard Dawn growl.

    "Surrender is not an option, Spartans. Get whatever research you can, and get those scientists to the extraction zone!" the Admiral said in the comm.

    "How unfortunate. I really did like you, Blaine." Zeus shrugged, as the earth beneath their feet quaked.

    "If you can keep those robots out of here, Spartans, we can get the research done within five minutes." Ripley said. "Even a Smart AI can't stop a full fledged Human from hacking. I'll need someone to cover me, however."

    Eve and Dawn looked amongst one another, as Eve placed a hand on Dawn's shoulder.

    "It's my fault the others died. I didn't oppose Wayne, and the others paid the price. Stay with Ripley, I'll help the Marines outside." Eve nodded. "Admiral, what's the ETA on those Eagles sir?"

    "It'll be about ten minutes. That's about the best I can offer."

    Dawn reached out to stop Eve, but Eve shook her head. Grasping her Smgs tightly, she walked out of the base. Ripley solemnly initiated the base lockdown, the metal doors crashing all around them.

    It was chaos outside of the base, Promethean Soldiers fired Light Rifles, Suppressors, Boltshots, and even Scattershots at the Marines. TYR base was clearly outnumbered, and by the looks of it, they weren't going to win.

    "A Spartan!" one of the Marines cheered. "Say your prayers, Forerunner bots!"

    Eve's eyes stared at her boots, as she walked forwards. Snapping her eyes upwards, she held the SMGs up, pointing them to the nearest Knight. Sprinting towards the Knight, her guns fired in sync, the armor piercing rounds shredding it's metal hull. Bounding off of her right boot, she kept her gun trained on the Knight, flipping over it's head.

    Grabbing it's sword, she lifted it's discarded sword. Flipping it in her hands, she turned her torso in a mighty swing, the orange metal sword connecting against three Soldiers. Turning to the nearest patch of Soldiers and a Knight, she threw the sword with all of her might.

    One of the Soldiers flinched as the metal blade impaled it's chest cavity. In a flash, Eve grasped the sword, a pistol in her left hand. Firing a few bullets into another Soldier's face, she kicked her victim away from the sword. Slashing across the Knight's massive torso, it's metal tore open with a debilitating screech.

    The ground beneath her feet quaked again, in the distance, a giant metallic bird rose from the ground. Her eyes widened, as her and the Marines were momentarily distracted by it's presence. Behind her, there was a clap of 'thunder'. Turning, a massive Forerunner robot stood there.

    "Spartan One-One-Five is crucial to my gracious Leader's plans. Your defense of his daughter is admirable, but futile." the robot said. "Take solace knowing that your death ensures tranquility for the future."

    Pitching off of her right boot, Eve roared as she charged the robot. In a flash of orange light, a sword the length of her appeared in the robot's hand. Swinging her sword upwards, the two blades crashed. Rebounding, she swung again. However, no matter how quickly she swung, the robot rivaled her.

    "Just a few more minutes, Eve." Dawn said. "Prometheans have breached the perimeter, Doctor, get down!"

    The two forces kept swinging their blades at each other, hoping for the moment when they could break the other's defense. Jumping backwards, Eve charged once more, swinging her blade up at it's mech. The two blades clashed once more, Eve's shattering in her hand.

    "Tsk. A noble effort. None have yet bested Warden Eternal." the robot taunted.

    To her right, Eve could see the Eagles slowly descending on the base. Warden seemed to have noticed it as well, a glowing orange light forming in his face. Eve didn't know what that pulse would be, but she didn't want the Eagles to find out either. Sprinting with her all, she tackled Warden Eternal, his beam missing the Eagles completely.

    Just as quickly as she had been on top of him, Warden Eternal kicked her off of him. Eve grunted as she bounced along the ground. Scrambling to her feet, Warden Eternal stomped towards her, thrusting a massive fist up and into her stomach.

    "Our ride's here! Eve, mount up!"

    "Negative." Eve coughed. "If I don't distract him, the Eagles won't stand a chance. Besides, the Admiral has to get his ship off world, if you try to fight him with me, Blaine won't leave."

    "Enough chatter, whelp." Warden snarled, thrusting a fist at her again.

    Valiantly, she raised both of her hands up to attempt to stop the punch. However, the strength of the punch had been too much, and she found herself off of her feet again. Rolling across the ground, Eve's vision became blurry. Glancing up at Warden Eternal, she watched as his sword rematerialized in his hand.

    Raising his sword above his head, Eve waited for death to come. Her eyes peered open, her gaze falling towards the Eagles to her left. Thankfully, Warden seemed more interested in her, than the three Eagles flying away.

    There had been four, however. Twisting to her right, she heard Warden's sword plunge into the earth. The robot grunted, however, causing Eve to look up. Wayne stood there, fists clenched. His left leg looked limp, concerning her.

    "You able to walk?" Wayne asked, not offering her a chance to talk. "Go, I told Dawn to wait for you!"


    "NO QUESTIONS, GO!" Wayne growled, firing his shotgun at the robot.

    Warden Eternal focused on Wayne, and if she sprinted now, she could make it. However, she also knew that he was going to die if she did. Shaking her head, she sprinted towards the base, Promethean Soldiers advancing on the base. Dawn stood in the back of the Eagle, a SAW in her hands.

    Jumping up towards the lifting vehicle, Eve's hand clasped the ramp, as she clambered up and into the bay.

    "Spartan Harlowe to Admiral Harlowe." Dawn said, placing a hand on Eve's shoulder. "Successful extraction. Spartan Wayne... he.. saved Eve's life."

    "Damn. Are you and Spartan Shultz alright?" the Admiral asked.

    "I couldn't beat him." Eve shook her head. "He's too damn strong."

    "You get to live another day. You saved a lot of lives today, Spartan. That in it's self, is a victory." the Admiral said. "We're retreating for now. When I come back, though, Zeus and I are having a very stern chat.



    Thanks for Reading!

    Bad John
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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Bad John on December 4th 2015, 12:47 am

    "Stay down, or they'll see us."

    Xifax could hear the exhaustion in John's voice. This had been their longest, most grueling mission since training. With his dented, dirty carbine in hand, the Spartan kept his back plastered to a wall as boots echoed through the wet, rainy street. Four brutes, all itching for revenge.

    The mission was a success. Alma had personally put her knife through the throat of a prominent War Chieftain who had been leading a brutal ground campaign on Planet Bliss, slaughtering the Outer Colony's militia groups for sport. The mission was little more than petty revenge, but it served a greater purpose; one less thoughtful leader for the Covies. A younger, less experienced Chieftain would take his place, and that might tip the scales in the next fight.

    However, as usual, extraction had been horrible. An ambush forced the trio off course. Xifax had nearly been killed; were it not for John and Alma, a brute Stalker would have run him through. However, Alma had taken the blow, and only narrowly survived.

    The photoreflective panels of Xifax's suit had failed long before now. Alma's suit was in even worse shape; a complete breach on her abdominal plate from the blade of a brute's spiker. She wasn't bleeding, but John and Xifax could tell she was in bad shape. Her breathing was ragged, and her skin was pale.

    Xifax leaned in and whispered, not wanting her to hear. Propped up a few meters away, she didn't seem to be listening. She was too busy fighting to stay awake. "There's a clinic down the road. We can get antiseptic. Biofoam. Clean gauze. Stitches. We can strip her armor and patch her up properly."

    John's eyes widened. Until now, he was sure he would lose his teammate, despite his efforts. Now that there was hope, he had felt his blood come back up. He stood as quietly as possible, turning to her.

    "Alma," he whispered. She turned, her wide pupils locked onto him. "We're gonna make a milk run. Stay down, and call out if one of them gets to you. Alright?"

    She nodded, unable to quite find words. Instead, she grasped one of her spare magnum clips, and slid it across the ground. John grasped it and stowed it away. He reloaded his MA5K, and turned to Xifax. "...Move when I engage. Got it?"

    The Spartan gave a nod. His hands trembled slightly; Xifax, at his core, had never been built for fighting. It took all the support of his teammates to get him this far. He clenched his fists, steadying himself.

    John moved. He had the drop on the brutes, and unloaded in controlled bursts. One of the jiralhanae went down immediately, his face torn to bloody shreds by the shots. A brute moved for his spiker, but the Spartan drew his sidearm and fired a shot. The bullet knocked the spiker on the handle, damaging its firing mechanism. John tossed the emptied MA5K aside, and lifted a second pistol, firing. The brutes, caught unawares, were slashed through and through by heavy calibre bullets, aimed specifically for gaps in their metal armor. The last brute dropped when a round caught him in the side of the head.

    The Spartan lifted his pistols, admiring the weight. He'd never a gun in each hand before. It was strangely satisfying.

    "...Watch out," a weak call from Alma came from behind John, who hadn't noticed the Chieftain looming over his shoulder. The brute swung its arm, and John guarded, covering the left side of his head with his arm and palm; a well done move. The Chieftain's arm smashed down against his guard, jarring him off his feet. Had Alma not warned him, the blow would have broken his neck. The Chieftain bore down on him, grasping the Spartan III by the chest plate, crumpling the metal. The Chieftain lifted and tossed the Spartan over his shoulder, and John landed hard on the hood of a parked car.

    The Chieftain turned to finish the Spartan, who was too dazed to fight back, but Alma intervened. Throwing her knife with all her might, she lodged the blade in the Chieftain's shoulder. With a bark of pain and rage, the Chieftan yanked the knife out and tossed it aside, lumbering towards Alma.

    "No no no no no no NO" John lurched towards the brute, pouncing on his back. The two struggled, the brute drawing his spike rifle and attempting to shoot the "demon" off his back. John grasped the brute's wrist, his fingers digging into the beast's gauntlet, and yanked back. The brute was forced to drop the rifle, as the Spartan swung an elbow into the side of his head.

    On any other day, John could have killed the brute with the assault. But the exhaustion of constant combat, kept awake by stimulants rather than actual sleep, on the run, covered in painful bruises and weakened by a broken bone in his arm, the Spartan was not up to the task. However, he did manage to secure Alma's temporary safety. As the brute stumbled towards a wall, John planted his boot on it and kicked forward. The two were thrown over a railing and down into a subway tunnel.

    John managed to let go of the brute, the two rolling down the stairs seperately. He slammed his feet on one of the steps, managing to get to his feet. The brute swung his clawed hand, striking one of John's ankles. The muscles in his ankle were sprained immediately by the blow, knocked off his feet and onto his side. John rolled under another blow, standing on the subway platform.

    He ducked another swipe that smashed through a concrete pillar, sending dust and rocks clattering across the platform. John slipped out of the way of a powerful punch, then sidestepped another. Stepping back, he threw a pair of kicks that thundered against the brute's chest. The Chieftain chortled, as John winced. His sprained ankle cried out in pain.

    Too slow to dodge, the Spartan took a punch to the chest that flung the wind out of his lungs. The Chieftain swung his claw, and John managed to stumble past him and out of the way, only to be stricken from behind. The blow tore a section of the armor from his back. The brute stepped in and struck again as John turned to fight, knocking a section of his shoulder armor off.

    Fucking cheap piece of shit, the Spartan absentmindedly cursed his SPI armor for breaking apart. The brute stepped in and swung a clawed uppercut into the Spartan, knocking him off his feet. John landed on his back, his arm dangling over the platform's tracks. The brute stomped forward, placing a boot on his chest and grasping his helmet.

    ...I...wonder how Lucy's doin', the Spartan manage to wonder, on the verge of consciousness.

    The brute drew a long, jagged combat knife; a dagger used most often for torture, or decapitation. The Spartan coughed, lifting a hand to stop the brute. The Chieftain shifted his weight, pressing his foot down on John's chest. He didn't scream; a part of him was aware enough to remain defiant.

    In a sudden rush, the weight was off his chest. The Chieftan stumbled as Xifax sprang onto him, punching the brute in the jaw hard enough to split an engine block. The Chieftain was stunned by the blow, landing on the tracks. The electrical current in the tracks did the rest; a powerful jolt of blue energy lit the brute up as he spastically trembled, eyes wide with sudden, indescribable pain. The brute died after a few seconds of horrible electrocution. His hair caught fire, his armor melted to his skin, and eventually the bones of his skull became visible. The two Spartans watched, Xifax with horror, but John with a long, ecstatic "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH SHIT!!!"

    John snorted, laughing. "Fuck," he gasped, the pain of his injuries registering. "You fucked him up Xi. Laid him out like shredded wheat. That dude is truly and SINCERELY dead." Xifax wordlessly hugged John, who gave him an awkward pat on the back. "Help me up, would ya? I don't feel so well."

    "Sure, John," Xifax murmured, yanking John to his feet. "Let's go home."

    "We gotta," John replied. "I can't wait to tell everybody how Xifax melted a dude's fucking FACE OFF." Retaining a brave face to get through his fractures, the Spartan chortled stupidly the whole way.
    Database Director

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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on March 6th 2016, 2:21 am

    Bumped for the sake of ease of access.



    Thanks for Reading!

    Bad John
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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Bad John on March 6th 2016, 6:20 pm

    Been a while! Let's do it.

    Writing prompt ideas?
    Bad John
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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Bad John on March 6th 2016, 6:22 pm

    Here's one. Your character(s) are pinned down with very little ammunition remaining, dealing with an enemy that's overtaken their position.
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    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on March 7th 2016, 1:33 am

    "Dammit Hendricks, get down!" the Spartan barked, shoving the Marine down behind a jersey barrier.

    The action had left the Spartan wide open for a hail of plasma and heated spikes to strike his overshields. Thankfully for him the shields held long enough for him to duck beneath the barrier.

    "Thanks Spartan." the Marine nodded, slapping a fresh clip into his MA5C Assault Rifle. "Shit, last mag!"

    "I'm out too." the Spartan growled, casting his rifle to the side, expertly uncliping his M6D Officer's pistol from his hip. "Spartan One-One-Five to Watchtower, how copy?"

    "Solid copy, Spartan. What can you report?"

    "Inspira City is suffering heavy losses. I'm pinned down with the last few Marines in the area, and ammo is scarce." Blaine said. "Requesting immediate support."

    "Negative, Spartan. All assets currently unavailable. You'll have to find your own way. The Covenant must NOT get Inspira."

    "Roger, Spartan One-Fifteen out." Blaine sighed, turning to Hendricks. "Looks like we'll have to find our own way out, soldier."

    Blaine pressed himself up against the jersey barrier, glancing at the encroaching Brute forces. In a one on one scenario, even a two on one scenario, Blaine was confident that he could outmatch them. Ten on one, however, were odds that he was not a fan of.

    "You familiar with the area, Corporal?" Blaine asked, turning to Hendricks.

    "Affirmative, sir." Hendricks nodded.

    "Inspira is a lost cause, Marine. All of our escape options are too busy evacuating civilians. We'll need a way out of the City, there's a Naval base next City over. We can rendezvous there."

    "There's an old Lethbridge Industrial facility not to far from here, sir. That might be our ticket out of here."

    Blaine nodded, as a Brute Chieftain swung it's Gravity Hammer, blade side down, at the barrier. The ensuing shockwave blasted the Spartan and Marine backwards.

    "Your rifle, Marine." Blaine said, as the Marine hesitated. "Give me your rifle, soldier!"

    Hendricks tossed the Spartan the rifle, who caught it expertly.

    "Make a line for that plant. I'll be right behind you." Blaine growled, holding the rifle firmly in his hand.

    Pulsing his rounds, he covered the Marine, who sprinted back towards the City. His primary target was the Chieftain, who struggled to wrench the hammer free from the barrier. Walking backwards, he kept his pulses short and controlled, making sure every bullet counted.

    The Chieftain, who did not have the luxury of an overshield, snorted in anger as the armor piercing rounds shredded it's thick furry hide. The rifle in his hand clicked, just as the Chieftain freed it's hammer. The other Brutes stopped and cheered their Chieftain on, expecting a one-on-one battle between the two of them.

    Tossing the spent rifle to the side, Blaine checked his HUD. His pistol only had two bullets left in it's clip. Clenching his hands into fists, Blaine stood ready for the fight. There was no way he was going to survive this unless he took out that Chieftain. Even then, he was buying time for the evacuation process to complete, and then retreat to the Industrial plant.

    "Come on then!" Blaine bumped his fists together. "Mano a Mono."

    "Your helmet shall make a good prize for my mate!" the Chieftain snorted.

    "Y'know, my quarters always did need a monkey skinned rug."

    The Chieftain snorted at the insult, charging at Blaine. The Spartan stood ready on his haunches, waiting for the right moment. When the Chieftain was withing distance, he propulsed his pistol into his right hand.

    Grabbing the hammer's handle with his left hand, Blaine span on his boots, pressing his back against the Chieftain's chest. Holding the pistol under it's chin with his right hand, he fired twice into it's chin. The first bullet pierced the hide, the second finished the job.

    Wrenching the hammer free, Blaine activated it's anti-gravity function, before throwing it at the pack of Jiralhanae. Turning on his heels, he ran head-long into a sprint after the Marine. The hammer struck the ground at the pack's feet, launching the Brutes up into the air, stalling them for enough time to for his escape.

    After a moment, Blaine could make out a perfectly good truck sitting just outside of the factory. The Marine had the driver's door opened, fidgeting with the wires to start the rig. With a spark that jolted the Marine, the car roared to life. Tying the cords, the Marine hopped into the driver's seat.

    Blaine glanced around, if they were pursued, they would need some sort of protection. As if on cue, a Pelican flew overhead. Fire erupted out of it's engines, spiraling out of control. As if it had been some miracle, the machine gun on the back descended to the ground just in front of him.

    As it had been stripped of it's belt feeder, it only had what little ammunition was on it's belt. Still, it would work for his purposes. Hoisting the massive weapon, Blaine stomped over towards the truck.

    "Jorge was always so fond of this." Blaine mused. "Guess I should see what it's about."

    Stepping into the back of the truck, Blaine activated the magnetic sensors in his boots to firmly plant himself into the truck bed. Tapping the roof, the Marine took the hint and drove off.

    "Watchtower to Sierra One-Fifteen, do you read?"

    "Affirmative Watchtower. Go ahead."

    "Evacuation has been completed to the best of our abilities. What's your position?"

    "En route to Jarvis Naval Base in Sanction City, ma'am." Blaine said. "Be advised, expecting heavy resistance."

    "Understood. A Pelican will wait for you there. Siera One-One-Seven is aboard and ready to assist."

    "Solid copy. Over and out."

    Inspira was just the first of many losses in the Covenant War. Blaine wouldn't be surprised if Harvest would be gone within the week, if not sooner. For now, it was just about surviving to fight another day.



    Thanks for Reading!

    Database Director

    Posts : 1217
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    Age : 23

    Re: Database: Anthology

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on March 7th 2016, 5:12 pm

    There, I've posted. I'll have to think of a prompt.



    Thanks for Reading!

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    Re: Database: Anthology

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