First person I ever opened up to. A gut feeling of mine, that led me to trust, despite no forknowlege of who or what I would find. Listened, to all I had to say, read my stories, and helped me, in the early days with some direction in art. For that, a true friend of mine, that I owe a debt I will likely never be able to repay.

The second person I opened up a bit to. Read those stories of mine, and gave me a hand in supporting myself in my actions. Don't go dark on me like others in my past.

Common ground of sorts is shared between me and you, and it bolsters me when I feel shitty, a reminder that despite how far away I may seem from the world and people, somewhere out there, at some point, I can bump into somone whom I share common ground with in person. If I bumped into you and found a friend, then I can do it again. For that, I owe some presents one day, when the time is right.

An eye opener, appearing to me in one of my weakest points this year. Causing me to rethink my aproaches, rethink and remember my stances, and remember to look past the superficial details and spot the finer ones, hidden in the background. For that, I owe something that I cannot properly repay, but I will help, with every available grasp of power in my hands that I can muster.

For helping me in times when I jumped into the fray well beyond my simple earthly grasp of things, you added a neccessary element that was needed where I would have failed otherwise. My personal currency of sorts are favors. You need a hand, I will help in whatever way I am able.

Relatively recent on the block. But already, you've shown great support to me, and even more so, are in the process of giving me a hand in finding something that is so very hard to find for a writer of my particular caliber. I thank you for standing by me.

An anchor of sorts. Thank you admirals, for providing subjects related to one of my favorite series of all time to discuss, debate, and muse on. You are a grounder to me, somebody I can look at, and am reminded of the time that I too, was so heavily invested in the Haloverse. You remind me of what I still enjoy, despite the bumps on the road. Keep that spark of yours going.

Offering financial aid to me in a low point. An offer I could never accept for it would not be fair. I thank you, for taking the time and consideration anyway.

Danka, for sharing your stuff with me. I'm a poor analyst, and poor on feedback, but, it's nice to read of worlds and people beyond this head of mine. I know I'm slow as fuck on getting back to ya, but give me time and I'll put things together.

I saw a picture of your eyes, you like spiders and reptillians, and then suddenly, surprise friend request. I don't know what will come of this, if anything, but I appreciate the action. Cheers to something new.

The first person I ever talked to on Bungie.net when I stepped out of the shadows. You are gone now, lost to the winds of time and change. A fate that has befallen many I have called friends of mine over the years. I know not of your fate, but I know that you are gone now. And so, I carry a shard of you with me, a fond memory of a person I never rightfully got a chance to know, but none the less enjoyed myself around.

Douglas walked along the titanium deck plating of the armoury, checking his gear along the way. As another trooper walked past, a fellow man that served in the same elite division he did, Douglas gave him a nudge with his elbow.


"Hey. You see the robot in the hangar bay?"


The man shook his head.


"What robot?"


"You know. Tall. Green armour. Doesn't say anything."


"What, you mean the Spartan?"


"Yeah. The Spartan. Why'd command send one?"


"I dunno. Maybe they thought for once the Helljumpers couldn't get the job done."


"I'm being serious here. They don't send one of those things out on normal missions. Something's up."


"Well, we're hitting a Covie outpost, right? On one of the moons in the system. Nothing's happened yet. No invasion, no ships, nothing. Command is spooked. They're sending us in to clear the place out before the covies realize we've got a world here."


"And you think they'd send a Spartan along for this?"


The trooper shrugged.


"All I know is, we're goin' down hard, fast, and we're clearing the base out before the covies know what hit them. I don't know about you, but I've heard the stories. Spartan's don't fool around. With one of them on our side, we're gonna huff and puff and blow some houses down."


Douglas checked the magazine on his assault rifle.


"Whatever you say. I know I wouldn't put any bets down on the Spartan, whatever it is."


The trooper rapped on Douglas's shoulder pad.


"Hey, lighten up. They're on our side too."


Douglas loaded the clip back into his AR.


"Whatever you say boss."

  Orbital insertion was standard business for Douglas by now. Rough, but he'd been on all the drops. Seen and lived through the worst. As their HEV pods descended through the atmosphere, revealing the gassy, thickly jungle populated moon below, and the shallow lake they were headed for, Douglas caught a glimpse of the telltale signs of a purple structure, hints of blue light emanating from it. Covenant all right.

 Like standard business, Douglas popped the hatch on his pod, stepping out into a truly shallow lake, the water barely coming up to his knees as he exited the pod, assault rifle bared. The rest of the team was mobilizing, and the Spartan stood among them, towering over them in ghostly green armour that almost could have vanished in the thick fog. Without saying any words at all the Spartan took up a position as the troopers moved out.

There was no time for talk. They knew the drill. Close the 10 clicks like the Helljumpers they were. Motion trackers were almost useless in the heat and ever moving environment of the jungle. Move fast, move quiet, eyes sharp. Find outpost, ascertain threat level, blow up outpost. Just an average day.

Douglas and the team moved through the thick jungle canopy, stepping through mud and alien vegetation as rain pattered down slightly on the lower level of the jungle. They were only a kilometer away from the outpost now. Stepping through yet another slog of mud, Douglas peered through his helmet, out amongst all the vegetation. Something wasn't right.

 Something in general was off about this mission. He didn't know what it was. But everything about this op was wrong. A Spartan. The response time about the outpost. Even the UNSC not taking evacuation action for the colony, despite its relatively small size. What was the brass planning here?

 Douglas never got a chance to finish his thoughts as gunfire suddenly erupted from multiple positions. Douglas turned to see the distinct shape of grunts emerging from the bushes and ferns, pointed backpacks and plasma pistols bared as they charged forwards. Douglas brought his rifle to bear on the nearest target when he was suddenly knocked over by something heavy.

 Fighting to roll over as a grunt began ripping at his backside with its hardened, claw like stubs for fingers as it screamed at him in a voice laced in higher tones from methane. In his vision he saw the giant ghostly figure of the Spartan step over to him, and with the strength and speed of something inhuman, it pulled the creature off Douglas before snapping its neck. Turning to the next target, the Spartan let loose a volley from their AR as Douglas rolled over onto his back to see an oncoming tide of grunts. Poorly armoured and armed with nothing but plasma pistols and their bare hands, they kept coming out of the jungle like a tide or rabid dogs.

 Plasma streamed past as Douglas opened up on the closest target, watching as the ugly creature was mowed down, blue blood spattering the jungle floor as it dropped, before another one of the thickly skinned aliens clambered over its corpse. Douglas mowed that one down too, and kept firing until nothing was left to move and his magazine was empty.

 Silence filled the jungle, as the high pitched screams stopped and the gunfire came to an abrupt end. A shadow formed over Douglas as the Spartan stood tall over him, extending a hand. Douglas looked up to the armoured soldier above him. Green painted titanium armour, fitting over every possible weak spot, etched in scars and showing a lifetime's worth of service. He couldn't even make out the faded identification tag across the chest plate. Douglas pushed the armoured gauntlet aside.

"Get off me. I'm fine!"

The Spartan said nothing, letting him rise to his feet. As Douglas turned to face the scene, what greeted him was, shocking. Mounds of corpses, grunts, hundreds of them, clad in orange and red breathers and backpacks, lay scattered across the jungle. And among them were ODSTs. Torn apart, or in their dying throes. Not all of them. But the fact that some of these men, veterans of over a 20 year long war at this point, lay dying in the jungle from the lowest of the low the Covenant had to offer, sickened Douglas. Anger held itself at bay as he looked over to the Spartan, who had reloaded their weapon and now stood over the dead or the dying, in silence.

  Douglas slammed his fist on the table, still smeared in blue blood, as the crewman on the bridge turned heads to watch him.

"Grunts, sir. You sent us, down there, to kill grunts. A methane refinery. That's all it was!"

The captain, a stern man, stood across from Douglas over a map table.

"We needed to verify before we took orbital action. Covenant build their bases deep underground. An orbital shot might not have even made a dent, or worse, bounced off the shields of the outpost if it had them."

"With some GOD DAMN RESPECT SIR, we lost a lot of men. Too many for a god damn methane plant full of gas suckers!"

"The threat was neutralized, no communications to any foreign location were picked up. You, and your men, did good work today. I'm sorry you had to lose so many. But you know what you all signed up for."

Douglas looked back, at the other troopers who were standing tall and quiet, among them, the Spartan. He was the only one stepping out of line. The captain knew it. But he never put his boot down. Because he knew Douglas was right.

Douglas pointed a finger at the captain.

"No. You don't get to say that to me, or these men. You sent, A SPARTAN."

The captain crossed his arms behind his back.

"And clearly, I was right to authorize deployment. Had you not had 028 here on your side, casualties might have been much higher. She did her best, like all Spartans do."

Douglas clenched his teeth and fists, biting back his anger. He couldn't hold it.

"You son of a-"

Douglas was interrupted by the Spartan, as she stepped forward, speaking for the first time since Douglas had seen her.

"Captain."

The man looked across the table to Douglas, ice in his veins and a hard face. He looked over to the Spartan, who stood out among all aboard the bridge, tall and imposing. He looked into the orange visor of the soldier, and then to all the other ODSTs standing at attention.

"Dismissed. Get some rest, all of you. We're going to stay on alert for the next few days. You all might need the sleep soon."

Douglas said no more, but kept his white knuckled grip as he and all the other soldiers left the bridge. As he and the others stepped out, the Spartan strode by, silent as ever. Douglas reached out, rapping against the back armour plating of the Spartan as she strode by.


"You. Turn around god dammit. I want a word with you."

The Spartan stopped, turning to face him. Douglas didn't really believe there was a woman under the suit. She was almost twice his size in height and her shoulders alone looked practically wide enough to be the same width as he was tall. She spoke, from under her orange visored helmet, cold, monotone.

"Sir."

Douglas shook his head.

"Don't you sir me. Don't you goddamn sir me! I have a name. I'm a person. I am not an objective, or a goddamn target!"

The Spartan stood, silent, arms at her sides, looking down at Douglas. Douglas held back every insult he wanted to shout right now, pointing at the Spartan.

"The UNSC makes you out to be some kind of hero. Some kind of, unstoppable weapon. They give you all this fancy gear, and this treatment, while us, the god damn grunts slog through the mud and take all the hits. If I had that suit of yours right now, jesus fucking christ I would've torn those rabid fucking dogs down on that moon apart! Why didn't you save them!?"

The Spartan stood, silent. Douglas pushed against the green chest plate of the Spartan, attempting to shove her.

"ANSWER ME GOD DAMMIT!!!!"

The Spartan stood, like a wall, looking down at him. Douglass shook his head, turning around to leave.

"You know you, and every last one of whatever you are, are a god damn disgrace!"

Douglas took one step on the metal decking, as a green gauntleted hand gripped his shoulder from underneath the black under suit that fit all over the Spartan's body. The hand that gripped his shoulder pad was powerful, enormous in strength as Douglas was halted on the spot. He turned on the spot in anger, coming around with the strongest uppercut he could muster, into the helmet that he could barely reach.

 The punch impacted off the Spartan's helmet as she didn't even so much as flinch. Douglas's hand rebounded off the helmet, as the Spartan continued to stare down at him. Another gauntleted hand came up, so fast that Douglas barely even had time to see it. But instead of a punch, it stopped short. In the armoured fingers of the Spartan sat a small data chip.

"Take it. My HUD cam."

Douglas reached out, swiping the chip away with his now injured hand. The Spartan nodded.

"You should have that looked at, sir."

Douglas gritted his teeth, but turned around and began to walk away. The Spartan let him go.

   In the twilight hours of the ship, as Douglas sat in his bunk, he held his helmet in his hands. The blue stains of blood didn't come out easy, and still persisted even now. He held the data chip in his hands, turning it over and over, watching as he did. He should have thrown it away. Crushed it on the spot. But he didn't. He sighed. May as well get it over with.

 Sliding his helmet on, listening and watching as it connected to his neural lace, he slid the chip into the back of his helmet, laying down on his bunk in the process. He scrolled through the options his HUD brought up with his eyes, selecting the play option on the chip which made itself known on his helmet's network. His visor tinted to black, and the recording started to play.

 He skipped through the early parts of the recording, past the drop, the shallow lake, and the trek through the jungle, until he saw the familiar clearing they had been ambushed in. Playing the recording normally, he watched the scene play out. The Spartan scanned the area as she walked, looking and watching. Douglas saw himself, only briefly as he raised his weapon. It was funny, watching himself through another's view. And then, like lightening, it happened. The camera shifted so fast that the next images were a blur across his eyes, a flash of gunfire, green, blue, black. He couldn't make anything out. And as the fight went on, and slowed, and things became more visible, enough that the camera could properly record, he saw himself.

 A green gauntleted hand extended out to him, as he lay on his back in the mud. A mound of Grunt corpses lay at his feet and all around him. He watched as he pushed the extended hand away, and then the camera turned, surveying the aftermath of the battle. Douglas paused the recording. This didn't show him anything at all. He was about to pull his helmet off when he had an idea.

 Douglas rewound the recording, to just before the fight started. Selecting through the options, he decided to slow the recorded frames. 5%. The fight started, still a blur. 15%. Rewind. Blurs. 25%. Something more noticeable. Rewind. 50%. Almost recognizable. Rewind. 75%. Douglas watched, as each frame played. Upping the resolution, he watched, as things suddenly became clear. And then he understood.

 The Spartan's eyes were faster than the camera itself. He watched the beginning moments of the fight, frame by frame. The Spartan had her rifle raised, and was already firing, just as the tip of the first of the grunt's backpack broke through the fern like plants. As the frames rolled by, for an agonizingly long time, every ODST in sight had not acted yet.

He watched, as a body fell through the bushes, and the Spartan was already firing on another target. Another body falling, as her rifle shifted aim, passing by a trooper without so much as a single round fired, and then in the next frame, more fire on another target.

 By now, all the ODSTs in the frames had their rifles raised, and were beginning to fight. Douglas watched as they fired on the oncoming tides of grunts, frame by frame. And then the camera shifted once more, showing how fast the Spartan's eyes and reflexes were. As the camera turned, the Spartan had already begun moving towards a trooper who had been overwhelmed by a wall of aliens scrambling overtop one another. Their chitenous, stubby claw like fingers reached out for the trooper, trying to rip him apart.

  In what seemed like only two short steps, the Spartan was at the trooper's side. A burst of fire into the closest grunt, and then another, while one arm lashed out, punching the nearest grunt on top of the ODST, shattering the alien's breathing mask and skull like it was paper. As they fell, Douglass watched as the Spartan reloaded her AR, and then reached out, passing her weapon to the fallen ODST, who had his own rifle knocked away from him.

  She was already turning before the man had barely even started reaching out for her weapon, and he watched as she let the weapon slide free of her fingers with such grace that it would fall right into the trooper's hands. She surged forward once more, to another trooper that was still standing, bleeding from his side as plasma singed and burned him.

  He watched as she stepped in front of the trooper, surging forward towards the oncoming grunts, with a knife drawn. One was stabbed in the head, another, punched in the chest as its armour buckled and bent inward, breaking ribs and shattering everything. One, two, three, four. Douglas watched the timer. Three seconds had passed since she had engaged the four oncoming grunts. And four were dead.

 Douglass watched, entranced by the frames as they rolled by. Speed, and power, and strength. And then he came to himself. A grunt lay over top of him, threatening to rip into his backside with its powerful arms that were inhumanly stronger than even some of the top trained, physically strongest humans alive. As the Spartan moved, her knife was thrown, landing square in the head of a grunt as it bore down on one of the fallen ODSTs, beating on the practical corpse of the man.

  And she reached out, grabbing the alien by the head, crushing it's skull with her grip itself, but she twisted, snapping its neck as with one arm extended she pulled the alien off Douglas, and spun around, once more, her eyes faster than the camera, and threw the alien into another tide of oncoming grunts. He watched the frames, as he had barely even rolled himself over at this point, as the Spartan continued, reaching out for an assault rifle at her feet. He stopped the recording.

  Sliding his helmet off, Douglas set it down on the material of his bunk beside him. He looked at the back of his helmet, where the chip was inserted. He sighed, almost painfully. He needed to rest. Laying down on his bunk, he closed his eyes, and let sleep claim him.

 Bodies littered the streets, as all around him, gunfire, and the sounds of alien weaponry could be heard. In the skies alien aircraft sped past, bombing buildings with green blasts of destructive energy, as Human fighters scrambled after them in tow. In the sky, an immense ship hung, as if from invisible wires, as thousands of dots streamed and poured from its hangar bays.

 Douglas walked the streets in a daze, covered in dust. People were running in all directions, vehicles struggled to pass each other on the road, only adding to the chaos as they crashed into each other or drove forwards into people regardless of whether or not they were in the way. Douglas walked out on the streets, screaming his lungs out, struggling to be heard.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!!!!"

Above his screams a sound could be heard, louder than even the commotion on the street. It was as if the air was crackling and burning, screaming even. And then Douglas watched as a ball of light, as bright as the sun, landed in the middle of the road. He was sent flying off his feet from an explosion, as heat waves blew over him, singeing his skin.

 Cars, people, the road itself, vanished and turned into a crater where the ball had fallen. Vaporized instantly. Anything outside of the crater was blackened and burned, on fire. People, cars, anything. Douglas lay down in the street, crying and screaming, as something alien, huge and purple, hovered down the street. It pushed through the remains of cars and trucks like they were toys. He could only watch as the alien craft turned on him, baring a massive cannon on top of it, humming with energy. He held his hands over his head, preparing for the worst, when another shockwave rippled through the streets.

 Douglas's ears were left ringing, as he looked up. The purple craft turned, back down the street it had come from, as another shell impacted against the craft, tearing through the alien armour plating. The purple craft moved backwards, past him and down the street, as it discharged another ball of energy. Another shell slammed into it, ripping through its damaged armour plating and exploding violently.

The craft sputtered and died, and fell to the ground, lifeless. As fire rained down from the sky, and aircraft screamed overhead, a tank, something Douglas only knew as a Scorpion, thundered down the road, rolling over cars and trucks as it sped down the street. Behind it, a large number of troopers, army, marines, and even police officers ran.


 Douglass got up, despite his ringing ears and the shock in his body as the ground shook from impacts every several seconds. He ran towards the troopers, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"PLEASE SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

The troopers responded, rushing over to him, struggling to yell over the noise.

"Sir! We're clearing a landing zone! A pelican will be here in three!"

Douglas clutched at the troopers desperately.

"NO NO NO, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! IT'S MY SON!!! I NEED HELP!!"

His cries were cut off as the marines shouted over him.

"Banshees incoming!!"

Douglas was thrown to the ground by one of the troopers as two alien craft screamed through the air above. They targeted the Scorpion as it thundered down the streets, unleashing torrents of plasma on it as they passed. The vehicle stopped dead in its tracks as the troopers charged forward.

"Get that damn tank back up now!"

Douglas was helpless in all the chaos, and left to his own devices, as he stood in the streets. As he looked down the street, on the path of destruction that the alien tank had made, he saw a warthog, speeding down the road. He ran out in front of it, waving his arms frantically.

The jeep stopped, skidding to a halt on the ruined roads. He ran against the hood, screaming at the top of his lungs and pounding on the hood to the occupants for help. And then he watched, as someone stepped out. Not like the other soldiers. They towered over everything, clad in green armour, fully encased. Douglas was already too afraid and shocked for pausing. He ran towards the immense soldier.

"PLEASE!!!! I NEED HELP!!! MY SON IS TRAPPED!!! PLEASE..... PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!!!"

The armoured titan before him nodded. The armoured soldier looked back to the troopers in the jeep. They nodded. Douglas scrambled around the armoured soldier, thanking them as he turned back and broke off in a run as fast as he could manage back to his apartment. The green armoured giant kept in stride with him the whole time.

 Douglas closed the gap into the lobby, running through its shattered glass doors, and up the stairs with the soldier in tow. He scrambled past rooms and hallways, as the building shook and crumbled. Light streamed through the ceiling as he entered the part of the building that had collapsed, finding his home and running through the doorway. He ran to the pile of rubble, concrete and rebar as it filled almost the entirety of his home.

  In a frantic madness, he gripped one of the concrete pillars, trying to pull it aside. The soldier placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him aside gently, but firmly. Douglass watched, as the giant stepped forward, and gripped the slab of concrete with both hands. Pulling it aside as if it were cardboard, revealing more rubble underneath it.

"NO NO NO PLEASE HE'S IN THERE SOMEWHERE! YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM!!!"

The soldier began ripping through concrete slabs and rubble, pulling them out piece by piece, until at last, a young boy was revealed. Douglas surged forward, pushing past the giant soldier. His hands shook, as he looked, and he knew. There, in the rubble, was his son. Covered in dust. Unmoving. Dried blood from his eyes and nose. Douglas collapsed onto the rubble, reaching forward, a cry escaping him as he broke. The soldier stood beside him, speaking.

"Sir, we have to move now. There's an evac poin-"

Douglas screamed out.


"I'M NOT LEAVING MY SON!!! DON'T YOU TAKE ME AWAY FROM HIM!!! HE'S COMING WITH ME!!!"

The building shook on its foundations as an explosion rocked the apartment nearby. The soldier spoke once more, before acting.


"Sir, we need to go now. It's not safe here."

Douglas felt an armoured hand on his shoulder, as he was pulled back forcefully against his will. He screamed and fought with all of his strength, but was picked up by the giant and hefted over their shoulder. With even more speed than before, the soldier broke away from Douglas's home. Douglas reached out, trying desperately to pull himself away from the soldier's grip, calling out to his son.

 He screamed and fought up until the last, as the soldier stepped up to the warthog, and sat him down into the passenger seat, strapping him in with a seatbelt as Douglas struggled, but was held against the seat. The soldier held him down and spoke to the driver, who looked on with worried eyes.

"Get him out of here to the closest evac point. I'll stay here on the ground."

The driver nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

As the warthog's engine revved, Douglas tried up until the very last to break free, before the jeep backed up and rolled forwards, gaining speed quickly. He yelled, cried, and beat his fists on whatever was in reach, trying to go back. But it was no use. The last he saw of the armoured soldier was the bright white numbers on their chest plate.

028.