Welcome to the Halo Database! A creative community where all fandoms are celebrated and shared! Sit back, relax, and let the creative juices flow!

Latest topics

» TWFF Btyes.
by Bad John November 10th 2017, 1:54 am

» Arrowheads
by Bad John November 9th 2017, 11:30 pm

» Sentinel; Invasion
by Shad0wChas3r November 6th 2017, 8:18 pm

» Writer's Roundtable
by Bad John November 5th 2017, 8:28 pm

» Origins: Reclamation
by Shad0wChas3r November 4th 2017, 6:27 pm

» Discuss Anything
by Manny September 12th 2017, 9:22 pm

» Global Defense Alliance Kaiju Dossier
by Impanther September 3rd 2017, 5:35 pm

» Final battle: Eyes of Noivern: Short story
by Impanther August 20th 2017, 6:21 pm

» New project trailer
by Impanther July 12th 2017, 7:32 pm

November 2017

MonTueWedThuFriSatSun
  12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930   

Calendar Calendar

Who is online?

In total there is 1 user online :: 0 Registered, 0 Hidden and 1 Guest

None


[ View the whole list ]


Most users ever online was 29 on October 1st 2013, 12:09 am


    Halo: Sentinels

    Share
    avatar
    Bad John
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 1217
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Location : A box in the United States.

    Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Bad John on July 7th 2016, 3:52 pm

    The Stonefree drifted in space. With a renewed sense of purpose, the modern flagship of the Freelancers had allies at her back. The UNSC and the Legion weren't far behind; as a matter of fact, one of the UNSC's carriers overtook the Stonefree and drifted forward in the battle-group, tauntingly sailing ahead into the black.

    The ship, though scathed, was patched up and ready to step back into the ring, like a fighter coming out of their corner as seconds slid under the ropes. Onboard, at the helm, former Admiral and Freelancer helmsman James D. Teach stared out into space, rubbing his chin as his bridge crew busily worked to correct course and stay out of the way of other ships, the Stonefree slipping into the center of the cluster of human vessels. Upon observation, the ship would appear a rather motely crew; vessels of all shapes and sizes were present, with something in common; they were the ones who got away, other than the Infinity. But running wasn't their aim.

    This alliance intended to keep fighting, starting with asset denial. If the remnants of the Covenant wanted to pick the bones off of UNSC occupied space, they had another thing coming. All the humans needed was some room to breathe, and a place to hunker down.

    Dr. Bailey sat on the observation deck, staring out at the stars above (or whatever counts as above) the ship. It was comforting to have a sense of purpose; working with the UNSC burned her a bit, after years underneath ONI's thumb. She'd had her tech stolen for years by people eager to take credit while putting in half of her effort. Be that as it may, she was always satisfied when working for a good cause, and this was one.

    Walter A. Law had sprang to work the moment humanity's A.I. turned traitor. The "Created," they called themselves. They'd hijacked a large number of constructs called Guardians, one of which the Freelancers had fled from. With an army of Promethean warriors, they intended to enforce peace at any cost. No surprise that Walter chafed under the idea. After maneuvering Bailey into a partially clean get-away, he'd summoned his considerable forces, rounded up as much of the UNSC as he could, and fought his way to where the battle-group now resided in deep space, far from the Guardian's purview.

    Bailey sighed as she sat up. She felt she had to say something, but couldn't quite form the words. However, a comforting hand grasped her shoulder. A woman she'd only recently met on an abandoned planet hovered over her. Dark blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, she wore a simple, elegant, white shirt with black pants, and a pair of simple sandals. Her blue eyes stared down at Bailey as she prepared to make a request.

    The woman who simply called herself Peace, had been found in stasis by John-B069 and Samus-B086, along with her three sisters. They'd invented pseudonyms for themselves to avoid suspicion, and Bailey had placed them on payroll with hire dates that stretched back to when the Freelancers were first formed. Peace (or Patience Finley Ariadne, as she was officially named), was one of the easiest people to talk to that Bailey had ever known. When she spoke, it steadied Bailey's nerves.

    "May I make an announcement on the intercom? I imagine your vassals could use something to listen to." Bailey quickly nodded, and pressed some buttons on her holo-pad, before handing it over. "Thank you. Oh. It appears I'm live. I'm sorry for the wasted words."

    Patience cleared her throat quickly, and lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes as she prepared to speak. She carried the air of a grand orator; everyone who'd seen her knew that she was the real deal, and treated her as such. Bailey got the same strange feeling from her as she did from Walter; they were beings created to lead, and lead they did.

    "Hello. I am Patience Ariadne. I imagine most of you know me as Peace by now, so call me what you like. I've been filled in on the details of our predicament. I understand we are at war, as we often are. Nothing brings me greater sorrow than to see an era where cooperation fails, and weapons are drawn. But, this time in particular, we are facing a type of foe unfamiliar to you."

    Patience quickly adjusted her hair when a few strands fell into her face. She rolled her eyes and shot Bailey a wistful smile, then continued, her expression flattening.

    "For years, you faced extinction at the hands of the alien forces known as The Covenant. They were intent on eradication. But this new beast you face claims to vie for peace. It offers an olive branch, and claims that so long as you submit and kowtow to their might, they will spread prosperity. Even if that were true, my answer...would be an emphatic no."

    Her composure broke for a moment, her fingers gripping the pad rather tightly and her expression darkening as she continued. The sight sent goosebumps up Bailey's spine.

    "They mean to rob you of your road. They would steal your celebration of life. Your culture. Your pursuit of advancement and strength. Under the rule of this fallen hero Cortana, you would languish, and the future of your children would be left up to chance. For this, I implore you, lift your fists and rage against these enemies with every ounce of your strength. I will walk that treacherous road alongside you."

    Patience, in closing, sighed deeply away from the holo-pad.

    "Know this. We must show Cortana that one cannot meet disagreement with force. One cannot justify actions with strength alone. We must admit to ourselves that the future of our children cannot be built upon subjugation and misfortune for those who refuse to toe the line. As much as it pains me to say it, but humanity is a warrior race. Do what you were made for, in any way you can. Fight. When the dust settles, we'll build a world where all can cooperate, and false distinctions fall away. But for now, we must resist our malefactors, starting by stealing back the Elduros System. Be prepared to kick some serious ass, my friends."

    The woman handed the holo-pad to Bailey, who gripped it. Rather awestruck, she wiped her nose and entered one final side-note. "You heard the lady. Combat personnel, put on your battle dress. We're not far from the Elduros system, so get ready."
    avatar
    Bad John
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 1217
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Location : A box in the United States.

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Bad John on July 7th 2016, 11:39 pm

    Author Note wrote:Couldn't resist doing one more.

    Patience's speech lit a fire under the Freelancers; even Stahl, who moved as lackadaisically as a leaf on a summer breeze, tromped along with alacrity, now covered in his armor, approaching the armory to get kitted with his weapons. Alma, walking beside him, sharpened one of her blades along her chest-plate, eager to meet the enemy. The upcoming battle would be ship to ship conflict; Malea would likely see the most action, but if all went to plan, there would be boarding raids. It would be a colossal boon is the Spartans could hijack and keep even a Covenant Corvette.

    John stepped down from his armoring platform, as a technician performed a quick suit diagnostic. "Sir, I know we've been through this, but I need to calibrate your HUD. Please look up at the light."

    "Roger." John-B069's helmet tilted up, his pupils staring into a red light until it turned green. The techie lowered the flashlight, and John stared at it. "NO, I do not want to invert my controls. I don't even know what that means."

    The technician plugged away at a tablet, scanning John's suit for any aberrations. "Gonna have a quick look at your wings, sir. Says here they were recently replaced after a high speed collision." John turned, allowing the man a look at his thruster pack. The technician looked down at his hefty grey tablet. "It says you're green, but I'm gonna take a quick look, so hold still." The technician traced the metal, then looked into the thrusters carefully, before patting the Spartan on the back. "Thrusters are fine. You're all set."

    "Good looking out, man. I'd hate for these to malfunction in deep space." John gave the man a pat on the shoulder that nearly bowled him over. "Ah. Sorry. Don't know my own strength."

    The technician smiled. "Good. Damn covies and A.I. won't know what hit 'em, sir."

    John didn't like being called "sir" one bit, but he abided it. It was far better than "Root Beer Guy." Even that, he'd gotten used to over the past few weeks. Folks needed two things; someone to look up to, and someone to poke fun at. As luck would have it, John was a bit of both. An inspiration, but not so far removed from his teammates that they thought him cold or inaccessible.

    The Spartan III hoped he'd be set against an enemy ship. Boarding a blockade runner, much less a Super-carrier, would give him some much needed target practice. He'd been taken out of the fighting due to a nasty fall that had left his suit in shambles. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror as he walked for the armory; his armor's dark colors were as deep and polished as a newly minted car.

    The Spartan, delighted with his re-built armor, snapped his fingers and pointed them like pistols at the reflection. "Lookin' good." As he did so, a sudden blip on his motion tracker collided with his right shoulder.

    Lucy pushed past him, fully armored. "Don't be a dork." With her helmet on, her face was unreadable. Her violet visor fixed on him for a moment as the two walked together towards the armory. "So, Peace calls herself Patience. What are the other three calling themselves?"

    John took a moment to recall, but rattled them off quickly enough. "Life is Lily McAllon. She looks about sixteen, so she doesn't work for us. Just hangs out in the rec room or her personal quarters. Bounty is Brooke Barbarosa. We lost a tank, so we replaced the weight with a few tonnes of soil, so she's growing stuff for the mess hall. I know for a fact she can use her powers to outfight any of us, but she doesn't seem too keen on mixing it up; wants to watch us handle business and see what modern fighting is like." John got to the last on his list. "Then, there's Health. Heather Ledonhart. She's working in the sick bay, obviously."

    Lucy nodded.

    "They seem keen on catering to the convenience of the common Freelancer," John continued. "All of 'em picked first names that match their 'designation,' as they call it. They're all pretty contemporary too, considering they're millions of years old."

    The sniper shrugged her shoulders. "Works for me." The two rounded the corner into the armory. The first thing they spotted was Diego, clad in his brick red armor. He was clipping a bandolier of shotgun shells around his waist. He handed another over to Alma, who clipped them on and claimed a shotgun. "Thanks," Alma gave Diego a nod. The red armored Spartan III responded with an enthusiastic thumbs up, as he claimed a shotgun for himself. He already had his favorite SAW on his back; it seemed everyone was eager to step into the fray.

    As John walked to his weapon locker, Samus marched past. Helmet under her arm, and her specialized grenade launcher at her waist, the two shared a quick nod. The two had shared a rather life threatening experience not long ago; Samus had saved John's life with a well placed grenade shot, and John had returned the favor by preventing her from taking a lethal fall. The effort had ruined his armor for a spell, and taken him out of the fighting. Such a save often sparked momentary bonding between the Freelancers. The two had been hanging out ever since.

    John pulled his own specialized submachine gun from the racks, and loaded some caseless ammunition into the side. He turned, noticing Maura in the corner. To his surprise, she had a rather scandalous weapon on her lap; with an angry face painted on the heat shroud, and a tank full of liquid incendiary, she had what appeared to be an M7057 flamethrower, though its chassis was dramatically slimmed down. Maura took off her helmet, placing it under her boot. "Impressive, innit? R&D just started putting 'em together."

    John whistled loudly. "You have brass balls using that in close quarters. As long as you point it down the hall, your enemies will be pretty damn uncomfortable."

    "Take this more seriously, both of you." Alma turned on the duo. John shifted uncomfortably, but Maura stared right at Alma, not backing down. "If you fuck up, you could be captured or worse." Maura shrugged her shoulders, grinning at Alma rather pointedly. Alma met her gaze, seemed to grow uncomfortable, then turned away and put her helmet on. "Just don't fuck up," she grumbled.

    Lucy checked her sniper rifle, and latched on her bayonet; a sangheili curve-blade. Satisfied, she latched her pistol to her hip. John grabbed an assault rifle with an underslung forty-mike-mike to go with his SMG and Pistol.

    The mission was simple; if and when the small fleet encountered trouble, the Spartans would board as many different vessels as they could, and turn the ship's guns on the Covenant.

    Today was shaping up dangerously.
    avatar
    Shad0wChas3r
    Database Director

    Posts : 1190
    Join date : 2013-01-16
    Age : 22

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on July 15th 2016, 12:55 am

    "Roland, all I need to know is; did we lose them?" Captain Thomas Lasky turned to the map table.

    "For the moment, the radar's blank in the immediate vicinity, sir." the AI nodded. "UNSC Carrier Aloha and Goodbye has taken point as instructed."

    "How about our allies in the Freelancers?" Lasky paced to the window, staring at the small cluster of ships that had just entered the Elduros System.

    "Preparing for combat, Captain." Roland reported. "Covenant Remnant ships are littering this system."

    "How'd they get so many?" Lasky sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "What of the Legion?"

    "They've always been tricky." Roland shrugged. "Potential battle cluster is waiting for us on the far side of that planet."

    "So, where do we stand?" Lasky asked, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table.

    "The Freelancers and the Legion are preparing their troops in the event that the battle cluster decides to engage." Roland nodded, pacing with Lasky. "Nothing serious, but I am isolating approach signatures from a few of the CCS Battle Cruisers."

    "I see." Lasky paused, turning his head to Commander Sarah Palmer, his faithful second in command, and head of his Spartan IV's. "Commander, bring the Spartan troops up to Combat Alert Alpha. I want everyone to be battle ready."

    "Everyone?" Palmer asked.

    "Everyone." Lasky nodded. "And Commander? Tell Osiris to give our old friend a warm welcome."

    ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

    "Fireteam Osiris, the light is green." Commander Jameson Locke said.

    "We can see that." Tanaka smirked. "Buck, you wanna do the honors?"

    "After what we did with the Chief on Meridian?" Buck scoffed, shaking his head violently. "We shouldn't be standing anywhere close to this cryo-pod."

    "Relax." Vale shook her head. "We saved Blue Team from that Guardian, the Admiral's an understanding fellow. I mean, you don't get to rank of Admiral, especially as a foot soldier, by killing your subbordinates."

    "Look, I've seen the Admiral on the field in New Mombasa, during the War." Buck shrugged. "If even a fraction of that comes our way, I got no-one to send my mangled body to for burial. I'm too damn pretty to die."

    "Focus." Locke grunted.

    "I'm just saying, Locke." Buck backed away. "Let sleeping dogs lie. Only the dog is a grizzly bear, and we're poking him with hot iron."

    There was a hiss as Locke punched in the access codes to activate an immediate dethaw. The Spartan II inside of the cryo-tube was a monster of a man, easily dwarving the four Spartan IVs standing outside. As residents of the Infinity, they occasionally had times to interact with Admiral One-One-Five, but they were isolated, not to mention few and far between.

    "I think you're too paranoid." Tanaka chuckled.

    "You sure?" Buck scoffed, turning back to Locke. "Remember on the space elevator on Meridian? Locke told us these Spartans are a family. Locke tried to go toe to toe with the most iconic of them. The Spartan in this tube's brother. Do we really think it's wise to let him out? Why couldn't Roland do it remotely?"

    "Even though I'm an artificial being, even I fear for my existence when he's pissed." Roland replied through the external mic on the tube.

    "The Admiral is a good man and a better soldier." Locke said. "I've read his file, he's solid. Nothing gets to him, and even if it does, he manages to keep himself collected. Now stow the bellyaching and get these other tubes thawed."

    With another hiss, the tube's lone occupant became clearer to see. The artificial light from the Infinity glinted off of the shiny new armor set that the Admiral had been wearing.

    "I'll give them credit, they get some cool looking armor." Buck crossed his arms, tapping his own ODST helmet. "Can't say the same for us though."

    "Blame it on Watershed. They focus too heavily on bulk manufacturing than actual quality." Vale sighed. "The Admiral's is a one of a kind, created by a friend."

    "Osiris." Locke turned to them. "I gave you all orders, now get to it."

    As the three Spartan IVs stepped away, the glass hatch of the pod opened, as a small wisp of cool air escaped at the sides, by the Admiral's feet.

    ///////////////////////////////////////////////

    Blaine's vision started blurring, as a group of four Spartan IVs stood idly outside of his tube. The disorientation began to wear off, and he immediately recognized them as Fireteam Osiris, the same group that had ruthlessly hunted down the entirety of Blue Team.

    When the hatch opened, three of the Spartans began to walk away. Leaving Blaine standing in his pod, with Spartan Jameson Locke being the only one to remain.

    "Sorry for the quick thaw, sir." Locke spoke. "Things are about to get a little hectic, and the Captain's looking for you. Disorientation should pass quickly."

    "I know." Blaine grunted.

    "Welcome back sir!" Buck yelled from across the bay. "Locke'll have you battle ready stat!"

    Blaine mentally scoffed at the notion. He had been battle ready for the past several decades, fought on several theaters of war, and was about to be made 'battle ready' by some power hungry ONI spook.

    "Admiral, please look around the room." Locke said. "I need to get a calibration reading from your battle suit's diagnostics."

    "I've already been calibrated extensively." Blaine sneered.

    "Your vital signs are nominal. No freezer burn." Locke nodded. "Okay sir, go ahead and climb out of the cryo-tube."

    Blaine slowly began to stand in his pod, clenching both of his fists. Rolling his shoulders, he stood at the lip of his inclined cryo-tube, looked at Locke, and jumped out of the tube.

    "I've been instructed to make sure your visor settings and shield systems work correctly, if you would just follow-" Locke began, as Blaine started to walk away. "Me. Sir?"

    "Fuck off." Blaine grunted. "I know how to calibrate my own suit, dammit. Get the others awake, I'm linking up with Lasky."

    Not to long before the Infinity made the jump to the Elduros System, Blaine had received word that the Legion, Bailey's Freelancers, and the UNSC were forming a temporary task force. The task force, which was still currently unnamed, were to participate in a theater of war within the Elduros System to deny assets that might assist the Covenant Remnants.

    After hearing what took place on the several different Human and Sangheili controlled worlds, he was more interested in fighting the Prometheans. Nothing pissed him off more than people that betray their allies, especially these 'Created', who now headed the Promethean forces.

    Passing by the armory, Blaine had a feeling that he would require armaments. He quickly gathered himself a DMR, an MA5D Assault Rifle, and clipped a M6C magnum on his hip. Though Lasky was a patient man, Blaine hated to keep people waiting. Upon gathering his things, he made his way to the bridge.

    Doctor Jensen
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 427
    Join date : 2013-01-18
    Age : 23
    Location : NSL, UT

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Doctor Jensen on July 18th 2016, 2:10 am

    On the UNSC Terror, Warrant Officer Moroni B-079 moved liked a Tiger, his fists pounding the punching bag in front of him. A number of UNSC servicemen watched from the side, a couple of them leaning against the wall, a few of them speaking to each other in hushed--almost reverent--tones. Moroni moved with the speed of a cheetah, his fists exploding out in awful fury at the punching bag made especially for this sort of occasion. From the outside it must have appeared to be a magnificent display of power from a disciplined soldier.

    But not on the inside.

    In reality, Moroni was in the gym to escape... everything. Putting on gloves and stepping up to the punching bag was an experience unlike any other. The feeling up the back fly crunch beneath his fists was pure ecstasy. It occupied his mind enough that images wouldn't return to him. The screaming of friends, the voices of Allie, of his comrades crying for help were silent when he punched. Flashbacks of friends being torn to pieces by the alien menace--the Covenant--were quieted.

    He was far from serene, however. In the back of his mind, Moroni still felt that tug of guilt, even as sweat rolled down his back. Even as his muscles tore and his heart drummed in his chest. Moroni knew the truth; he knew that there was no actual escape. He could distract himself, he could help others. Moroni knew the truth. One day, he would have to face his past. Allie, Bryan, Marcus; he would have to face their--

    Moroni was distinctly aware of the silence around him. The crewmen were eerily still, their eyes captivated by him. It was at this moment that Moroni realized that he was simply holding the punching back with his gloves. The hinge at the top groaned. He withdrew his hands and turned to a group of servicemen to his right.

    "It's all yours, boys," he said, smiling brightly. "There shouldn't be any problems, but be careful, all right?"

    Two out of the three froze as he acknowledged their presence. The third, a tall, well built fellow with the marine corp insignia stitched onto his shirt nodded. Moroni turned and grabbed his towel from the bench. A strong itch at the back of his head made him aware that more than a few pairs of eyes were watching him with deep interest.

    "Sir," said a deep voice from behind him, "I know you, don't I?"

    "I think that's a question best answered by ," Moroni said as he whirled around.

    He was grateful to be able to keep his mind off of other things.

    The taller man from before stood in front of the punching bag, his eyes squinting at Moroni. It was the face of a man who was trying to remember a face. He opened his mouth and his eyes widened.

    "Yeah. Yeah!" he exclaimed, his voice rising an octave. As his head bobbed up and down, the man smiled widely, revealing a set up perfect white teeth. "I absolutely know you sir. I can remember your voice clearly now. It was on Paris IV. Those lizards, the uh, Elites, had us corned neared the UEG treasury and were about to blow us halfway to kingdom come when you punched one of their lights out--and I mean that literally. Honest to goodness, I checked out its head after the battle, and it looked like it had been stomped on by an elephant."

    Moroni nodded politely, smiling all the while. His mind was working furiously as he tried to remember the battle. Paris IV had been a hell hole as it was. The Covenant had really thrown everything after the UNSC in the area. Though he distinctly remembered saving several groups of soldiers from Elites, Grunts, savage Jackals, and even Hunters, he struggled now to remember this man and his squad.

    "How many of you were there?"

    "Five of us sir," the man said with a fading smile. Slowly, his eyes dulled. "I was the only one that survived. You killed the elites before I they got to me. It's still pretty vivid in my memory. I remember you checked up on me and said 'they're gone. It's all up to you now. Pelicans are on the way.'" The man looked Moroni square in the eyes. "You saved my life. Now, I can give you much, but I want to say thank you."

    He held out a hand. Moroni, a little taken aback from the conversation nodded hesitantly, then took the man's hand. Then it dawned on him.

    "Private Dallyn," Moroni finally said.

    Private Dallyn nodded his head vigorously. "Yes sir, that's me. Thank you. And thanks for remembering my name."

    Moroni was about to respond when he was cut off suddenly.

    "Captain on deck!" came the cry.

    Moroni and the other servicemen spun towards the entrance of the gym and straightened to attention. Captain William C. Banks, a short but gruff looking man strode into the room quietly. He was the type of man that could often be overlooked when he walked into a room, but when he demanded attention, he got it. He worked his square jaw and eyed the crowd of servicemen. Eventually his eyes fell upon Moroni.

    "At ease. The ship's going to leave slipspace in one standard hour, people. Get your asses in gear," he ordered. "Spartan B zero seven nine, come with me."

    "Yes sir," Moroni said.

    "Get to it marines," the William said. He turned promptly, without checking for Moroni to follow.

    Moroni dabbed the sweat off his face and shoulders, presented himself as well as he could, straightening his clothes and taking a deep breath. He caught up with William and walked stride for stride with the man. Moroni had only met him a few weeks ago, but had gotten nothing but good vibes from the man. William was a good, strong man that was fit to lead in such turbulent times.

    "Captain," Moroni said. "What can I do for you?"

    "We're about to drop out of slipspace," he said. "And I need you combat ready, just like the others. That means full MJOLNIR armor."

    "Yes sir," Moroni said. "Is there... anything else?"

    William shook his head. "You're going to be the first one from our ship. You'll have your own team, a squad of ODSTs, to infiltrate a Covenant cruiser. We'll be providing you gents with cover fire, so you'll be able to sneak in and cut those bastards down."

    Moroni nodded. "Well, seems simple enough," he said.

    "You're a Spartan," William said. "You can do anything. You save lives, you help people."

    But you didn't save us, Mo. Why not us?

    "Except make a good joke, sir," he said wryly.

    "You'll get there someday, son." The Captain stopped. Moroni took note of their arrival at the lift. William pressed the lift button with one hand and firmly placed his other hand on Moroni's shoulder. He was frowning. "Listen, Spartan. I know there's a lot of pressure on you to do this right. I wish that you boys could take a rest, that you could spend a little less time fighting, but that can't happen now." He worked his jaw as he looked for the right words. "I wish I could give that to you. You deserve better than that. But I promise you, everything will work out. Just keep fighting."

    Stunned, Moroni opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. He wanted to thank the Captain for his comforting word. Before today, he hadn't realized that the Captain was so involved in his soldiers' lives.

    "Thank you sir," Moroni finally said.

    The doors opened as the elevator descended and slowed to a halt. William nodded at Moroni and patted him on the back. Moroni thought he saw a hint of a smile on William's face. What a thought that was. Confidently, William entered the elevator and pressed a key.

    "You're a good man sir," Moroni said.

    The Captain eyed him, then played with his mustache. "Godspeed, son."

    With that, the elevator doors closed, and Moroni was left in front of the lift in his civvies. He is a good man, Moroni thought. Hopefully one day I can be like him... or the Chief. He scratched his buzzed head. It was time to get ready for the action. In one swift movement, he was heading back towards the armory.

    He didn't know much about the mission. He knew there would be a whole shipload of Covvies. He knew that not everyone could survive. He knew that they needed to use the ship to help the fleet. The rest was as unclear as the void. But he was ready.
    avatar
    Bad John
    Freelancer Operative

    Posts : 1217
    Join date : 2013-01-17
    Location : A box in the United States.

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Bad John on July 29th 2016, 10:00 pm

    The fleet exited slipspace en masse. Infinity, possessed of the most powerful engines, exited first, and was flanked by a lethal entourage of battle ready UNSC warships. Across from them was a disorganized cluster of enemy vessels. Some had already turned to face the humans, while others dilly dallied out of formation.

    At the helm of the Stonefree, former Admiral turned Freelancer James D. Teach torqued his jaw, eyes narrowing as his heart rate elevated. He had to remind himself of one thing.

    This isn't the Covenant War anymore. We can fight. We can win. Helmsman Teach tilted his cap, turning towards the man in charge of communications. "Get Infinity on the horn. I need to speak with Lasky." In a mere second, Infinity's bridge was hailed, and a hi-res image of Lasky came up. Palmer loomed over his shoulder like a needle nosed dragon, blue visor boring a hole in Teach's forehead. Spartans always creeped him out on a level, with the exception of the ones he worked with.

    "This is Thomas Lasky responding to Stonefree. What do you need?" Lasky leaned against his metal projection table, waiting for Teach to reply.

    "Lasky. Hold off on attacking these six marked ships. We have six Freelancer boarding parties itching to mop them up." Teach stood confident and straight. With the graying hair under his cap, he felt old looking at Lasky. Younger man, bigger ship, Teach would just have to settle for bolder claims.

    Palmer seemed to lean back slightly. "Six ships, huh?" Palmer replied coolly. "Not bad for such a small vessel."

    Teach rolled his eyes, turned, and directed his targeting computer. "Stonefree. Set all targeting parameters to covenant fighters and boarding craft to our starboard side." The dumb AI driving the ship's smaller munitions set to the task as soon as the board operator hit accept on the command. Stonefree's side seemed to open, dozens of computer programmed barrels pointing, swiveling, and letting loose a chorus of silent slugs and dirty fireworks. They sailed through space, and a bright swath was cut in the black as nearly fifty enemy banshees, seraphs, and boarding shuttles were turned to shrapnel.

    At that, Palmer whistled. Lasky nodded. "They're all yours, Stonefree. Infinity out." The call was cut, and Teach got on the intercom. "All boarding teams! We're going in full tilt, so pick your targets and get ready to board. Kick some ass, Spartans!"




    John-B069 and Xifax-B107 made up one boarding party. Finally, all the Thursday Wars were about to pay off. Xifax checked his pistol, then his submachine gun. He turned towards John, visors meeting as they prepared themselves. They were preparing to take a carrier ship out of play with no boarding craft; just thrusters and careful maneuvering.

    As they shared a quick nod, John drew a slow semi-circle across the bottom of his visor; a Spartan smile. He seemed excited to get to work. Xifax lifted his hand, giving a thumbs up. "I'll clear the room." John latched his submachine gun to his hip, bouncing on his feet. "Got your charges ready?"

    "Of course." Glancing down at the detonator on his waist, Xifax looked forward. The two readied themselves for the green light. Alone in a small room with a tempered glass door directly into space, they would be ejected after a few more seconds.

    "Ah. You brought your submachine gun." Xifax noticed the weapon on John's leg; an M7 with caseless ammunition. Xifax had an M20; similar, but more angled out, and sporting bullets in metal jackets.

    "Of course. You got yours, right?" Xifax could hear the smile on John's face. "Bullet-hose buddies?" John offered his fist to Xifax, and the Spartan IIIs bumped knuckles.

    "Bullet hose buddies," Xifax parroted. The light turned green, and the glass door shot open.

    The two Spartans disengaged their magnetic boots, and were yanked out. John turned over in the zero gravity, watching as Stonefree grew smaller. He turned back over, his thrusters flaring. Xifax was ahead of him by fifteen meters, flying along as he led the way. "Shrapnel ahead. Watch me and correct your approach." Xifax's voice dropped to a serious, businesslike tone. John turned his leg mere inches, and the blue jets of flaming propulsion sent him in a wide circle around the broken pieces of a banshee. He watched a bone pass his shoulder; Jiralhanae. Flecks of frozen, violet red blood drifted in perfect spheres as he screamed past. One pocked against his arm, depleting a hair's width of his shield.

    "You took damage. Are you alright?" Xifax corrected left, sliding past the remains of a boarding ship's hull.

    "I'm fine." Following, John watched as Xifax approached the enemy carrier. Ships were flying from its bay. Torquing his jaw, John prayed they wouldn't be spotted and shot at while in space. Redirecting would be highly difficult now. Confirming his fears, a vacuum fitted banshee screamed past them, then turned around, coming towards them from behind. A glob of plasma passed him. "Xifax, we got a fighter on our tail. It's firing its guns at us. Correct right."

    Xifax moved quickly, swerving to avoid the enemy fire. As John turned and unlatched his gun, hoping it'd have the punch to at least depressurize the cabin, the banshee suddenly burst in a firey explosion as a pair of human rockets hit its side. A deep space varient Wasp flew past the wreckage, whirling around to pursue the rest of the banshee's squadron.

    Malea. John smirked. "Enemy eliminated. It seems Malea is taking care of enemy fighters." A fellow Freelancer, Malea was the best damn pilot John had ever seen. Even outnumbered twenty to one, John would bet on Malea anytime. Those banshees, phantoms, and even the Seraphs didn't stand a chance.

    Turning, John watched as Xifax flew through the transparent shield and into the enemy's bay. John followed seconds behind. His eyes adjusted to the purple light of the enemy hangar as he rolled over his shoulder and looked towards Xifax, who had already taken cover.

    Needle and plasma rounds screamed past John as he sprinted, avoiding on target shots. He moved fast and silent, the enemy unable to track him with their guns as he slid behind a tool crate, looking towards Xifax.

    "Enemy lance ahead! Four jackals, two brutes!" Xifax quickly moved out of cover and rattled off controlled bursts from his M20. Two of the jackals went down in bloody heaps as he targeted their legs, then their chests. He weaved back into cover as they returned fire. One of the brutes brayed with anger at the loss of two of his warriors. Hunch backed and unfocused, he fired at Xifax and missed.

    John popped out and fired his pistol, striking one of the brutes on his unshielded throat. The brute gurgled and yanked back in horror at the lethal wound before the Spartan fired again, hitting him just below the eye. The brute dropped and fire intensified from the desperate remains of the small squad, which had just been cut in half.

    Looking over at Xifax, John gave a quick hand sign, cutting his flattened hand across his chest, signifying for Xifax to remain cool. He jerked around the box where he hid and tore directly towards the enemy lance. Even the on target shots missed as the Spartan III sprinted, weaving under plasma and even homing rounds of pink blamite, the human soldier was untouchable.

    He rammed shoulder first into a jackal's point defense shield, smashing it. With his arm broken, the jackal jerked backwards. Not fast enough. John brutally stomped his neck. The second jackal turned his needler on the Spartan. Still not nearly fast enough. John slapped the weapon out of the way and thrust his palm. The blow dented the jackal's armor and sent the avian creature flying backwards. The brute was the last remnant of the former lance, and he went berserk, casting aside his plasma rifle.

    A slow flurry of fists came at John, who ducked one, then weaved aside as the second came. The brute stepped in and threw a kick, but John shot forward, grasping the brute by the upper thigh. "Shall we?" The Spartan smirked, and thrust his palm upwards and into the brute's jaw. The knockout blow made the brute bite his tongue off. John swept the brute's base leg, drew his knife, and plunged it into the brute's chest.

    Xifax caught up with John quickly. "This was a security lance. Probably guarding a few excess ships. Things will get heated once more flight crews come in to man their ships."

    John nodded. "Let's get in the hall, blow the door so they can't launch any more ships, and head towards the bridge. We'll deal with the crew once we've taken control of this bird."
    avatar
    Shad0wChas3r
    Database Director

    Posts : 1190
    Join date : 2013-01-16
    Age : 22

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Shad0wChas3r on August 16th 2016, 6:02 am

    "Admiral." Thomas Lasky nodded, saluting Blaine as he entered the bridge. "It's a pleasure."

    "Captain Lasky." Blaine quickly offered a salute. "What's the sitrep?"

    "As you know, we're clearing this system of Covenant remnants. Stonefree is currently engaged with a small Covenant Patrol."

    "How many ships?" Blaine asked.

    "Six marked, eight total." Palmer replied, crossing her arms. "Why, you want one?"

    "I more than just want one." Blaine smirked. "I want a NOVA."

    Even Palmer took a step back as Blaine suggested one of the UNSC's most powerful Nuclear grade explosives. Lasky and Palmer took a glance at one another, the sound of boots echoing down the hall behind them echoed in the bridge.

    "Sir," Lasky paused. "A Havok is just as capable of destroying a Covenant Super Carrier as a Nova."

    "I'm well aware, Captain." Blaine nodded, running his hand along the holoscreen.

    The hologram extended above the table, producing a wired map of the locale star system. Just beyond the planet closest to the Infinity was a Covenant Fleet of roughly twenty or so ships. It wasn't the largest fleet that he had seen in his career, but it was still nothing to sneeze at. Even then, they still had no idea how many countless others were in the system.

    "That's because I'm not going to be just blowing up the Super Carrier, Captain." Blaine zoomed the view of the hologram on the fleet. "Back in the war, we used NOVAs to blow giant holes in REAL Covenant fleets."

    "With the Guardians inhabiting the Sol System and all munition stations offline, we'll want to limit our resources." Blaine continued. "One strategic Covenant Trojan horse, at the expense of a singular NOVA nuclear device? We'll do just that."

    "Sir, not to question your prowess." Lasky scratched the back of his head.

    "What Tom means to say is that even the Chief would have a hard time soloing an OP that ballsy."

    "Oh." Blaine chuckled, shaking his head. "Who said anything about me doing it alone?"

    Behind him, the door opened with a slight hiss. Two gargantuan Spartans, just shorter than Blaine, stepped up to his side.

    "I was a lone wolf half of the Covenant War, look at what I accomplished." Blaine turned his attention to the two Spartans IIs by his side. "I'm not alone anymore. Prep an Eagle with the NOVA, let Orange Team do the rest."

    /////////////////////////////////////////////////////

    Blaine sat in the pilot's seat of the Golden Eagle, helmet in his lap. He didn't really like getting sentimental, especially this close to Mission start. However, he was concerned for the fate of the Solar System and all of it's inhabitants. He had always been one to think of Smart AI as people, but he knew his colleagues in the UNSC had always treated them as things.

    The GEN II BIOS, better known as ALALA, was a beautiful armor set designed by Catherine Halsey, but developed by the talented Doctor Billy-Jean Bailey. He gazed at the Arthurian style helmet, his eyes setting over the crimson red tint in the glass part of the visor. Turning it in his hands, he felt the same giddy smile form on his face as when he first donned the armor not even a few days prior.

    His hands fell upon the controls of the Golden Eagle, as they neared the Covenant Super Carrier. The idea was for them to infiltrate the ship stealthily, take over the bridge, and set it on a suicide course that interjected with the main fleet.

    In the other room, he could hear his two Spartan II teammates talking among each other.

    //////////////////////////////////////

    "I haven't seen Big Blue push himself like this in a long time." Lorellei sighed.

    "Reach was his home, lost to these Covenant bastards." Katherine stated bluntly, before pumping a fresh shell in her shotgun. "I know the feeling. Now our own AI are turning on us?"


    "That isn't fine." Lorelei shook her head, speaking softly. "Even for him."

    The two Spartans felt the weight in the Golden Eagle shift as it decelerated, spinning on it's own weight to put the troop bay facing the Covenant Super Carrier. The door to the cock-pit slid open, as Blaine ducked under the doorway and by their side.

    "Here you go." Lorelei said, handing Blaine the NOVA.

    Blaine nodded as he fixated the nuclear device onto his back using the magnetic bonds. As he did so, he pulled a personalized DMR off of the wall, holding it in his arms.

    "Thanks Lorelei." Blaine said. "You guys ready?"

    "Yep." Lorelei dipped her head.

    Blaine took a step forward, as Katherine's hand firmly planted itself on his shoulder.

    "You alright?" she asked, as Blaine placed his hand on hers, nodding.

    Blaine moved to the front of the two, pressing the ramp release. As the ramp descended, the view of the Covenant SuperCarrier came directly into view.

    "Orange Team." Blaine nodded, without having to say another word more.

    Using the thrusters built into their armor, the three Spartan IIs zoomed out into the void of space. As they neared the Covenant Super Carrier, Blaine's zoom function on his suit activated. A trio of Covenant Banshees were preparing for take off, though he doubted it was because of them.

    If Lasky's intel was correct, this Super Carrier was deploying Banshee squadrons to keep boarders out. After having worked with John, he knew that the Spartan III was apt to taking everything in close quarters, and that included landed an UNSC craft inside of the ship. This Banshee patrol was likely on the lookout for their Golden Eagle.

    The distance between them and the Eagle had significantly increased, and as such, he turned his gaze back to the vehicle. The three Banshees had drifted past the Spartans, headed straight for the scout vehicle.

    Blaine silently waved them goodbye, as he detonated the explosives inside of the Golden Eagle, which evaporated the three Banshees immediately. Turning his attention to the front, the docking bay of the Covenant ship was still open. The three Spartans activated their thrusters, propelling themselves inside.

    As soon as their boots struck the ground, the magnetic locks engaged immediately. Sprinting forward, Katherine practically shoulder checked an Elite to the ground, firmly planting the barrel of her shotgun to the back of it's head and firing off a single shell. A small squadron of Grunts, no less than twenty, barked as their leader was instantly killed.

    Blaine barreled through them, using his feet to cave their skulls in with swift kicks. Any that he missed, Lorelei decimated with her sniper rifle. Blaine hefted the last Grunt, as it's beady eyes widened, the squat creature squirming in his grip. It's bulky, trunk like arms went to it's throat, as he continued to squeeze.

    "How you doing?" Blaine smirked, before thrusting a devastating, fatal punch to the creature's face.

    The blow dented the Grunt's head, caving it's skull in significantly. Tossing it's corpse to the side, he held his DMR at the ready, scanning the room for further enemies. When he was content, he whistled to the others, who grouped up on him.

    "How many Banshees are intact?" Blaine asked.

    "Four." Lorelei reported. "Though, knowing the Covenant, it's not entirely unlikely that those four are in repair."

    "Phantoms?" Blaine asked. "Hell, even a Seraph?"

    "There is one Phantom." Katherine said. "Not sure that it's vacuum compatible."

    "All Phantoms are." Blaine replied. "It's whether or not they have Slip-Space drives that makes a difference."

    Blaine quickly linked his visor's display with the others. He pulled up the known schematics to a Covenant Super Carrier. His eyes scanned over it for the bridge, when he found it, he made a highlight for the others.

    "Katherine, I want a seal on that other door. Stop as many of them from coming in as we can muster." Blaine said. "The bridge is marked, Lorelei and I will advance there. Once you're done with the seal, keep that Phantom safe. It's our ride out."

    "Understood." Katherine nodded, before scooping up a Covenant Plasma pistol.

    While Katherine set to work with that, Blaine and Lorelei moved to the opposite side of the room. The population of the docking bay was extremely light, a fact that Blaine didn't much care for. He knew that Katherine was capable of keeping it locked down, he just was known for always worrying about the variables. The what ifs to every scenario.

    "Do you wonder why the AI's have turned on us?" Lorelei asked, as Blaine handed her his DMR, before plunging his hands into the metal door, prying it open.

    "To be honest, I don't know." Blaine grunted as he held them open far enough for her to pass through. Turning around, he snapped his arms back to his side as the doors slammed shut. Lorelei passed him his rifle, before they turned back to the corridor leading to the bridge. "It's torn the Chief apart, though. Cortana was his friend."

    "An AI is just a machine though." Lorelei said in a confused tone.

    "You had Katherine during the war. Chief and I have been lone wolves." Blaine grit his teeth, his grip on his DMR tightening. "The pain of thinking you were the only Spartan left. To cope with the crippling loneliness, he bonded with Cortana in a way no other man and machine had bonded."

    "You're right." Lorelei sighed. "I never thought of it that way."

    A silence loomed over the duo as they marched through the Covenant ship's halls. As they walked, they made certain that there were no Stealth Elites looming in the halls.

    "At least he reunited with the rest of Blue Team." Lorelei confirmed. "-and you reunited with us."

    "No kidding." Blaine said, before holding a finger up.

    They stood at the corner of a T shaped crossroads. Their motion trackers finally picked up some activity. Pressing himself to the wall, Blaine quickly peered around the corner to see an all too familiar sight.

    A lone Jiralhanae pressed it's right hand against the wall, leaning forward. Blaine's augmented hearing could pick up the sound of liquid trickling onto the wall.

    "Mmm!" One of the Grunts chuckled. "Jiralhanae pees on walls!"

    With a snarl, the Brute readjusted it's loin cloth, before turning around and snatching the Grunt's head in it's massive, beastly hand.

    "Graahsnrf!" the Brute snorted. "One more word, and I'll rip your head from your shoulders and piss down the socket!"

    Blaine chuckled as the translator built in his armor relayed what it said to him. Lorelei took a quick knee, as Blaine raised a hand. The point of the infiltration was to be as sneaky as possible, to avoid alerting the Sangheili on the bridge. Stepping out from around the corner, Blaine whistled.

    "Hey stinky!"

    The Brute dropped the Grunt in a heap, but not before smashing it's head against the wall. If it were possible, Blaine knew steam would be geysering out of it's nose. With a beefy roar, the Brute's arms flexed as it clenched it's hands into fists. Suddenly, it began to sprint at him on all fours, it's right shoulder pitched forward. Blaine began to sprint at the beast as well.

    Noticing the Spartan's advancement, the Jiralhanae picked up it's pace, racing towards Blaine. Blaine smirked beneath his helmet, before spinning to his left, pressing his back against the wall and holding his right foot out.

    The Brute groaned, landing face first on the metal floor, it's fangs scraping as it traveled. It stood quickly, turning to face Blaine, who still rested against the wall, tossing a Frag Grenade up and down like a baseball.

    "I think you missed." Blaine chuckled. "This is my first time fighting you, so I wouldn't know any better."

    The Jiralhanae fumed, before sprinting back at Blaine again. Blaine clipped the frag back onto his waist, before standing in a readied position again. The Jiralhanae's clawed hand slashed down at Blaine, who backstepped the blow. The Brute followed up, swinging a wide punch at Blaine's helmet. Blaine ducked under it, jumping behind the Brute. Turning around, it swung straight for his face. Dipping nearly onto his back, Blaine braced himself on his left hand, before donkey kicking the Brute in the face.

    Growling angrily, the Brute recovered in time for Blaine to stand up. Advancing on Blaine, the Brute opened it's maw up wide, attempting to chomp down on Blaine's arm, or neck, whichever was closest. Dodging backwards again, Blaine narrowly avoided it's chomp again. Pulling his DMR up, Blaine shoved it in the Brute's mouth. The Brute's muffled growl was heard, slobber drizzling down the side of his rifle.

    Punching it in the abdomen, Blaine brought a nasty uppercut under it's chin. With both of his fists combined, Blaine swung his fist hammer under it's jaw, launching the Jiralhanae backwards. Landing on it's back, the Brute spat his rifle onto the floor. Standing, it's fists clenched so hard he could see the purple blood pouring onto the floor.

    Blaine had been sprinting at the creature, however, ramming his right elbow into it's face. The force of Blaine's sprint and the weight of the strike sent the Jiralhanae skidding down the hallway. Following after it, Blaine jumped, kicking the Brute in the chin, before flipping back onto his feet. The Brute stumbled backwards, as Blaine dashed forward, plunging his Knife into it's skull.

    The Jiralhanae bubbled for a second, before collapsing to the floor in a heap.

    "Let's keep moving." Blaine said, flicking the gore off of his knife and picking up his DMR.


    _________________


    \\'Boyo\\'

    Thanks for Reading!


    Sponsored content

    Re: Halo: Sentinels

    Post  Sponsored content


      Current date/time is November 18th 2017, 10:51 am