In a Den of Lions

It was with great effort of will that the spartan repressed the notion of defeat, as he skulked into the night’s shadow to avoid confrontation with the local species of this world. It had been bred, and often beaten into him by the Office of Naval Intelligence, that failure to maintain one’s duty was utterly unacceptable. Even with the knowledge that a withdrawal in the face of unknown opposition did not necessarily equate to a defeat, and he had not retreated as a result of overwhelming resistance, he felt the bitter sting of inadequacy nonetheless

The sensation was only inflamed as he limped into the dense forestry of this alien world. It may not have been overpowering hostile forces that induced his flight. But as he shambled into the dark like a leper chased off by unreceptive townsfolk, leaving the shattered remnants of UNSC vehicular authority to be picked over by alien vultures, it was near impossible to swallow the acidic bile of his current insufficiencies.

He may have not been defeated.

But he was failing.

The spartan paused next to a tree stump, taking a moment to consult his NAV software and examine the metallic shrapnel that still skewered his thigh. Unsurprisingly, the navigation systems in his Mjolnir were not operational. Considering there was no UNSC satellite or starship to slave his electronics to, he was deprived most of his armor’s tactical and information gathering systems. Without such amenities, he was forced to rely on his more linear options.

The only advantages he still possessed were mostly combat aids, shields were still functional and other than the breach in his thigh plating, his Mjolnir’s integrity had been otherwise undamaged. If not for the heavy armoring and shield generator built into both his suit and the sabre, he would have not been capable of walking away from that crash. Hell, if he hadn’t been equipped with the prototype Mjolnir he had been field testing for ONI, he might not have survived either way.

As he flicked the lid of his TACPAD to boot up the small, portable computer, hoping to check what other systems were still functional, he wrapped his free gauntlet around the warped spear of metal lodged into his thigh, and tore it out with a grunt of irritation. Before the wound could bleed too deep, he slid a can of biofoam out of a hardcase on his waist and jammed the nozzle into the breach.

Ignoring the stabbing pain that followed, he studied the TACPAD’s display with a weak flutter of relief. While he was unsurprised that it could not form a connection to the UNSC TACNET, it was at least able to scan his immediate surroundings with its built in sensors, and was already working to compile a localized mapping index.

At the moment it was barely rudimentary, but he hoped in the days to come - for he knew this was not a situation that would be resolved swiftly – it might prove useful yet. Leaving it to run its program independently, he closed the top of the device and moved away from the stump, continuing his trek through the forest in what was a maddening exercise of disorganization.

With his navigational databank unavailable, he did not even have access to the four cardinal directions, so he could no less use it to set a course for even north or south, instead he followed the survivalist training he had undertaken on Onyx. The sun may have already set, but he could yet use the moon to find his way. After all, the moon’s illumination was merely a reflection of the sun’s light. Recalling what Kurt-051 had taught him in the forest outside Camp Currahee, he was able to at least discover the direction of true north, and recalling from which direction the alien militia had arrived from, what was this particular planet’s western vector, he had been able to extrapolate a path that might lead him to a location of significance on this world.

Where technology failed, human knowledge and intuition excelled. Or in the words of his drill instructor, a soldier was as only as effective as the brain in his head. With an objective, he set course with a lingering ghost of his resolve haunting his unrelenting and single-minded pace.

Out here in the woods he was ineffective, deprived of the tools and the means to properly plan and respond to his unforeseen estrangement. But if he were to find where these aliens lived or at least where they operated from, he could fall back on his training to survive long enough for retrieval, or if it came down to it, until he could find his own way back.

The last surviving member of Noble Team would not fail in his responsibilities. No matter the unpredictable peculiarity of this world and its inhabitants, no matter what obstacles would seek to impede his journey, he would return to the fight. He would go back to see the total destruction of the Covenant. He would dismantle their organization brick by brick, genocidal monster by genocidal monster, or he would die in the attempt. He would do this for a waning humanity, for the family he had lost on Jericho VII, and all those who had died and would die in this senseless war.

He would not stop until long after he exacted his just recompense.

*****

Felina entered into a scene of utter pandemonium. Enforcer headquarters was a maelstrom of raised voices and running bodies. Every desk in sight was occupied and she had seen at least half a dozen squad cars per city block. It would seem as if her Uncle had called in everyone.

The feline took a step back as a kat in a slightly ill-fitting uniform and greying fur hustled past, speaking rapidly into a radio.

It looked as if even the reservist had been activated.

“Lieutenant, the Commander’s been asking for you!”

Still trying to comprehend the radical shift in the once quite building, she simply turned her head to the officer shouting across the near deafening chatter consuming the administration bureau.

“He said to tell you to head up to his office.”

“Right, thanks McNeal.” She nodded her gratitude and weaved through the hustle and bustle till she arrived at the elevator. She was grateful for the reprieve from the chaos as the lift’s doors shut, sealing her away from the bedlam and taking her all the way to the top of the tower.

The scene she arrived to was stark in its opposing polarity.

Unlike the floors below, the level housing the upper management for the Enforcer’s was deathly silent, a contrast that set Felina’s fangs on edge. As usual, while the grunts waded through the disarray below, the so called ‘leaders’ rested upon their laurels atop an ivory tower.

She held great respect for her Uncle and all he had done for Megakat City, however his Lieutenant Commander and the superintendents did not hold her favor. It was a wonder how the Commander had kept the city intact considering the ludicrous hoops he had to jump through to get approval for even the smallest deployment of resources.

Luckily, depending on who you asked, his efforts were not alone.

As much as she knew he disliked them. If not for the Swat kats, Megakat City would have descended into lawless anarchy a long time ago. Personally she was not entirely supportive of their vigilantism, yet unlike the laughable efforts of the police department, bloated as it was with corpulent politicians, they at least got things done.

In her musing, the elevator doors nearly closed with her still inside, and the feline hastily slipped out with an embarrassed groan at having been so lost in thought. Thankfully no one had been in the lobby to see her blunder.

Stopping in the overly opulent antechamber she spent a quick moment dusting off her uniform and straightening any wrinkles that might have accumulated during her sojourn out into the forest.

Once confident she was presentable enough, she traveled down the comically long hallway leading to the Commander’s Office. Stopping at the door, she rapped politely against the varnished wood, waiting until she heard the familiar baritone of her Uncle’s voice as he called for her to enter.

Given leave to step inside, Felina did just so, taking a moment to gauge the room as she moved to stand in front of the desk.

Much like the kat himself, Commander Feral’s office was fastidiously clean and meticulously kept. Every paper was sorted exactly and not a single pen was out of place. Mounting the walls squaring off his room were countless medals and certificates of achievement, all of which spoke volumes of his character. She could not help but feel pride whenever she found herself in here.

The Feral family has long carried a line of distinctive service, both in the Enforcers and in the military. Being in this room was just a visible reminder of their noble heritage.

Taking her eyes off the various accruements of office, she focused her attention on her Uncle, and saw what most others did not see, for they could hardly look such a kat in the muzzle. While his physique and bearing was as insurmountable as ever, his eyes told a different story. Tired, worn by the demands of his position, her Uncle was a kat that had taken the brunt of backstabbing politicking as well as the high stress burdens of his job.  

Concealing her worry, she instead straightened her spine and offered a crisp salute.

“At ease, Lieutenant.” He ordered, waiving off any more pomp and formality as he gestured for her to take a seat.

Taking the proffered chair, she primly balanced her paws on her knees and sat ready for what she suspected was a debriefing.

“I received word of your… findings, some hours before you returned. Since then I’ve been contacted by both General Ironclaw” the large kat sighed heavily with unexpressed irritation, “and Mayor Manks. As you can imagine they expressed entirely different concerns. But for the moment that is irrelevant. What I want to know is what exactly you found out there, in your own words.”

“To start, Sir, we responded to a 911 call from a local farmer in regards to a possible plane crash. Following the directions the farmer gave we arrived at the site some sixty kilometers outside the city.” She answered carefully and as directly as she could, knowing that any detail could be important or potentially vital in further investigation. “Its composition and design are as of yet, unidentified, but I do know that it is, or rather was, a highly advanced military aircraft.” She paused for a moment, uncertain if she should continue. Felina had her suspicions, but she was not confident they would be appreciated. Yet all the same, he had asked for her analysis, in her own words nonetheless.

“I do not believe it originated from this country.”

The Commander’s expression was grim as he nodded darkly. “I had suspected as much. As did the General it seems. He has already requested that we transfer the wreckage to military purview. I am inclined to agree, this is well outside of our jurisdiction. Until the local National Guard unit arrives to acquire the debris, I’ve put the entire force on high alert. For all we know this could be the beginning of an attack. Did you find the pilot?”

“No. While the aircraft was undoubtedly piloted, we found no trace of the individual other than a set of tracks leading into the forest nearby. And yet… judging from the severity of the crash, I don’t understand how they could have walked away from it.” It baffled her to even consider how anyone could have survived what she saw. “I deemed it unadvisable to conduct a search for the pilot without authorization.”

The older feline nodded sagely. “That was a sensible decision. It’s better to let the military handle such an investigation.”

Felina felt uneasy at the possibility presented by her developing supposition. “You think it could be the katzistani?” The United Clans’ relation with their eastern neighbors had always been tenuous, ever since the last war. The thought of this sparking another was one she sorely did not want to consider.

“It’s a possibility.” Her Uncle admitted. The Empire of Katzikstan had been in a technological arms race with the United Clans since the end of the cold war. It very well could have been a test flight for a new air superiority fighter that went wrong. “Regardless, I want you to oversee the transport and relocation of the wreckage to Megakat R&D and safeguard it until the army detachment arrives. Hopefully after that it will no longer be our problem.”

“Of course, Sir. Consider it done.” She declared with confidence, and sensing that the conversation was in its final stage, she rose from her seat and prepared to leave.

However there were a few words her Uncle had still yet to say.

“Felina…”

She paused at the dropping of formality and genuine note of unfamiliar care in his voice, and turned back to him, his eyes even more haggard than before.

“Stay safe, and that’s an order.”

“Of course… Uncle.” She nodded curtly and stepped outside into the silent hall.

*****

The room just outside the mayor’s office was a place not often utilized, visible by the accumulation of dust upon the unassuming desk isolated against the far wall. Though it had been furnished for use by his assistant, the calico kat hardly ever had the time to take advantage of her modest workplace, far too occupied with juggling her own responsibilities as well as those of the Mayor himself.

That evening was a particularly rare occurrence in her usual weekly routine. With the Mayor out playing golf with potential campaign contributors, and the city itself mostly quite after the Swat kats last intervention against the time manipulative threat posed by the Pastmaster, Callie Briggs could finally take a moment to clear the dust from her infrequently used desk and other accruements of her pseudo office space, and finally overlook the pile of papers that always seemed to accumulate in her absence. 

While rather banal and unexciting considering the usual affairs she found herself unwittingly wrapped up in, she enjoyed the little chore of housekeeping just for that very reason. She would take sorting supplies and approving zoning requests over dodging bullets and escaping capture any day.

Such fur raising exploits were better left to the Swat kats, or Lieutenant Felina.

Musing on her unusual luck, the tawny feline hummed a soft tune as she finished wiping away the dust and filed her last paper for the day. Standing from her seat with a huff of pride, she looked to the pile of finished documents and the newly immaculate surface of her workspace, and allowed herself to bask in the sense of accomplishment at a concluded day’s work.

Hopefully the Mayor wouldn’t need here for the rest of the night, because either way, she was going home. As proud as she was in her efforts, she didn’t want to spend another minute in the building if she didn’t have to.

For once looking forwards to the frozen dinner that would be waiting for her back at her apartment, and the luxurious softness of her king sized bed; she hitched a ride on the nearby elevator and soon stepped out onto the streets of Megakat City.

Upon stepping outside she was accosted by a chilly gust of wind and hurriedly buttoned up her carmine coat, wondering why it was that professional businesses always insisted that their female workforce wear such short skirts.

Or rather she tried not to as she waited for a cab to pass by. 

While she stood there, paw raised to hail a taxi; she took the time to drink in the sights and sounds of Megakat City’s nightlife.

Like most big cities, no matter the time of day, there was usually a fairly large pedestrian presence traveling to and fro along the sidewalks, those who operated the night shifts at the local power plants or the occasional night owl out to visit any one of the many establishments that still catered to their clientele at such hours.

No matter how many times she left the office, she was always surprised with the citizens of the city. No matter what nefarious scheme befell the populace, they had always endured, stoic in their desire to maintain their lives, despite the inexplicable adversities they had to endure, more so than any other city in the country.

With the likes of Dr. Viper and Dark Kat, one might wonder why the military had not stepped in to deal with such threats. It was a solution the common citizen had wished answered on a daily basis. For the Mayor’s Aide, she already knew why. And it was not exactly a pleasant revelation.

There were a lot of politics involved in the upper echelons of city management, even more than most kats realized. Notwithstanding his seemingly flagrant abuse of his position, Mayor Manks held near total power over Megakat City. The Enforcers, and even the military, needed his authorization if they wanted to perform any large scale operations within the limits of the municipality.

And she knew him well enough to know that he would not allow anything of the like so long as he was in power. He was afraid how such maneuverings would affect his popularity, which was already a flagging concern for the average voter.

She just hoped that someday, someone else might step into the position, someone who would not be afraid to make the hard decisions. But until then, she did her best from the inside to mitigate what damages she could, a rather thankless job.

But someone had to do it.

Thinking about the present was disheartening, and she felt her mood decline as she watched a cab pull to the side right in front of her. She could only hope that the future would be brighter.

Callie sighed as she opened the back door and settled herself in for the long commute home.

*****

In the end his objective had not been hard to find. He could see the light pollution of the sprawling city long before it came into sight. He would admit, to a somewhat small degree, that he was impressed by the expansive urban metropolis that seemed to range from the nearby shore and across an immense oceanic body of water, the two halves of the great city conjoined by a solitary bridge secured by a lattice work of suspension cables and sturdy concrete foundations.

It reminded him, in a poorly imitated and crude fashion, of the capital city on Reach, though by now he concluded that New Alexandria would cut a far worse picture, slagged as it had been by the Covenant’s orbital bombardment. If he were to develop a rudimentary understanding of the technological gap between humanity and this new species, he would be willing to wager that they had yet to develop beyond the use of fossil fuels, which he could then further conclude that they would in all likelihood possess a primitive space program, if any at all.

If he was right in judging their society on face value, then his chances of leaving this world had plunged even further. Nevertheless, he would worry about that when he could afford to. Instead he tacked off the first objective on his list.

Now having discovered at least one of their settlements, he could shift into the next phase, active reconnaissance. Considering the disparities between humanity and these feline-like aliens, he would have to adapt the standard procedure usually used for infiltrating insurrectionist held worlds. 

Though he would have preferred not to, if they had been human he could have at least removed his Mjolnir to subvert the populace. But seeing as he was not covered in fur, nor possessed a tail, he would need to be more careful in his maneuverings, as most options were beyond his means.

Thankfully he could still somewhat follow protocol. He would first need to scout the level of advancement for this civilization, discern the extent of their technological development. Once confident in the understanding of their capabilities, he would have to gauge the effective strength of their military. If it was within his abilities to handle, then he could focus on acquiring the means of contacting the UNSC.

Yet before he could do even this, he needed access to their global positioning satellites. That is if they even possessed such technology. However he was fairly confident at their current state of development they would at the least have established some sort of orbital array. But that was not his biggest concern. Without an A.I to remotely connect to their network, he would have to not only discover where the actual link was held, but personally connect his TACPAD to their servers.

He was confident that the codebreaking algorithms downloaded into the device would be powerful enough to pierce whatever encryption safeguarded their systems. The hard part would be finding the network node and getting close enough to access it.

Shifting slightly from his prone position atop the cliff face overlooking his side of the bay, the spartan activated the VISR software loaded into his HUD. While neutered of most its capabilities in its current state disconnected from a broad-band network, it at least offered low-light vision and a telescopic magnification that he could use to gather intelligence from his current location.

His vision, enhanced beyond his already biologically augmented retinas, could peer into the extensive city skyline, amidst the jungle of metal spires and the stout, dark red earthenware buildings that dominated the majority of civil construction. He searched specifically for any kind of broadcasting equipment. His best chance would probably be a news network. While military equipment would have been preferable, and undoubtedly superior, if he wished to retain his anonymity it would be best to distance himself from their armed forces for as long as he could maintain his secrecy.

The spartan had no desire to involve civil authority.

Several minutes of thorough observation passed before he found a possible location. Deep in the heart of the city, across the waterfront, was a fairly large structure with a white concrete front. While outwardly it was nearly indistinguishable from its neighbors, the fairly large radio antenna atop its roof singled it out as his target building.

Noble Six unenthusiastically surveyed the vast separation between him and his objective; where the uninitiated would see several kilometers of busy streets and transparent windows, the spartan recognized unfavorable terrain with limited concealment and possible concealment for snipers.

The special operations operative glanced to his tarnished armor. Though once the titanium plating had been treated with a coating of non-reflective silver, the crash and ensuing flames had burned away the solid coloration, blackening his Mjolnir with a charcoal-like residue. It would no doubt take considerable effort to remove the discoloration. And yet, in its present condition, it might prove more suitable to the environment.

Although its new shade would work well in shadows, he found the prospect of infiltrating the city at ground level to be near impossible, with greater risk than reward. He deliberated the merits of finding a sewer entrance, but without a mapping system he was more likely to become lost in the labyrinthine catacombs that no doubt crawled through the megalopolis’s underbelly.

With his physical enhancements, further augmented by his armor, it was a more conceivable concept to traverse the city’s rooftops, and he ran a lower risk of detection if he inserted from a higher elevation. He nodded to himself as he came to a decision. Logic dictated progression from above. It was perhaps not the best plan he had formulated, but in recent context, it would have to suffice.

Terrible plan aside, it was good to be orientated upon a goal once more, the direction, and the purpose it offered allowed him to, even temporarily, forget his unfavorable circumstances. First gather information, then figure out a means of getting back.

As long as he focused on the mission, he could still believe in his duties.

Rising up from his cloaked positon within the underbrush, he found a relatively even slope and slid down the grade, his armor cushioning him from hard rock underneath. The time it took for him to reach the bottom, he kept his shields inactivate. The spartan was unwilling to broadcast his position, something that the envelope of protective energy would do in his controlled slide.

He hit the ground at a sprint, shield systems flaring online as he skirted the edge of the small dockyard sitting below the cliff. Placing himself between the port and the surf to his right, the human supersoldier circumnavigated the breadth of the city as he made his way to the bridge.

It would be faster for him to cross using their infrastructure then it would have been if he decided to cut straight across the ocean. He did not know how deep the waters were or what manner of marine life swam through the alien sea’s depths.

He already had his fill of oceanic predators back on Mamore. With the Sabres still in experimental testing, his had suffered a critical engine failure, forcing him to bail out over the planet’s southern ocean. The ensuing seventy three minutes before extraction via a specialized diving team, would never be forgotten by him for as long as he lived.

He had one consideration that summed up the entirety of that unpleasant experience.

Mjolnir did not float.

Since then, the spartan was not afraid of deep water, but he was averse to it.

Six looked down at the murky channel a hundred meters below him as he traveled across the maintenance catwalks, wondering what new horrors might await down in the dark waters. He was not, however, curious enough to investigate.

Shaking his head at entertaining such distractions, he returned his thoughts to the task at hand, praying for expediency in the coming mission and days to follow.  

*****

In the end reaching the rooftops of the buildings in the city had been easier than he suspected it to be, a simple matter of climbing the first fire escape he came across. From there it had been even easier to maintain his concealment as he bounded from rooftop to rooftop. The denizens of this world were much like humans, in the respect that they did not pay attention to the world above them. And in his brief glimpses of the environment below as he cut across buildings, the soldier noted that the everyday bustle of their community was much like a UNSC colony, their infrastructure even mirroring human construction in a way that was to a certain degree reassuring to a spartan so out of his element.

Recalling what he had learned about public infrastructure during his many lessons in the program, it was fairly simple for him to navigate the outwardly complex maze of civil engineering.

He made good time in his trek over the city’s spires, little less than an hour passed before he arrived at the structure overlooking his objective. Standing atop the roof’s edge, he directed his attention down to the news building several stories below him. If their society operated under any sort of municipal planning that emulated human architecture and design, which through his studies appeared conclusive, then the server room housing their communications equipment would be somewhere near the top floor. Therefor it was only logical that he infiltrate the development from a point that would place him closest to his mark.

The spartan spent several moments calculating the velocity he would need to achieve if he was going to clear the gap between buildings and land safely on his target. There was approximately a thirty-five meter clearance separating the two buildings. Taking into account the structure under him was twelve stories taller; he would need to produce sufficient speed to land at his goal. It would was going to be close, even with assistance. His armor contained several maneuvering jets for use in zero-g environments. However, in this instance, they would do little more than generate enough lift to counteract the substantial weight of his Mjolnir.

Nevertheless there was truly only one way to find out.

Jogging to the end of the opposite side of the rooftop, he lowered into a crouch and primed his muscles. The following jump would be an all or nothing affair, and the soldier prepared himself in that moment for the worst case scenario, though he would prefer not to miss.

Noble Six launched forwards, reaching, nearly instantaneously, acceleration in excess of sixty kilometers per hour. Maintaining his speed, he crossed the roof in moments and coiled the muscles in his leg before unwinding them in a released burst of controlled propulsion that sent his armored form careening high into the air.

Before the half tonnage of his Mjolnir could bring him careening into the street hundreds of meters below, the jets built into his suit activated. Armored segments around his calf and upper back receded to reveal four conical nozzles that flared into existence with the harsh rumble of blistering exhaust fumes.

The spartan spent ten tense seconds hurtling weightless through the sky, seconds that seemed like an eternity to a mind enhanced to a point that it could run rapid combat computations at such speed as to alter the perception of time

And then, before the eleventh second could pass, his boots impacted the concrete of the adjacent rooftop. Rolling forwards to negate the inertia of his arrival, he skidded to a stop just before he collided with the far wall.

Taking only a moment to adjust to his new environment, the spartan rose from his crouch and set his eyes upon the roof access door across from him. He noticed the box-like, rectangular outline of the camera recessed into the upper left corner, and moved swiftly to disable it. Five seconds passed before it was neutralized as he uploaded a command from his TACPAD for it to recycle the last five minutes of footage on an endless loop.

Simultaneously, he was relieved to learn that the infiltration software on his device still functioned against unknown systems. Designed as it was to counter the technologically superior Covenant, it should not have really come as to much of a surprise it could countermand the inferior equipment.

Secure in the knowledge that he had not yet been detected; the spartan examined the door, scanning for any alarm systems that might be triggered by his forced entry, of which the scans soon indicated the absence of such deterrents. Apparently the owner of this building was unconcerned with theft, seeing as the only means of surveillance or detection had been the camera he hijacked.

Now acting without the threat of immediate discovery, he could address the situation without resorting to unnecessary force. While it would have been easiest to simply rip the handle off the door, the less he did to reveal his presence the better off he would be, which was why, with the gritting of his teeth, he methodically removed the hinges and set the door aside with the intention of reinstalling it on his way out.

A set of stairs now lay in front of him, and down the steps, his objective.

Readying himself for the delicate task ahead, the spartan wondered distantly at the absurd nature of his current situation. He had been trained to destroy entire terrorist organizations, equipped with weapons and technology that allowed him to match the peerless might of a massive alien empire. Yet here he was, sneaking into a news network to download the equivalent of a civilization’s almanac.

Since his arrival he had fallen far from his intended purpose.

The spartan released a muted sigh directed at the laughable decline of his profession as he removed the handgun on his thigh and tightened his gauntlet about the grip. The faster he accomplished his objectives, the sooner he would return to the UNSC and slake his presently incapable desires for vengeance.

It would be best if did not have to resort to needless death. He had no real reason to kill any of these strange aliens, and doing such would only make their desire to reciprocate that much stronger should they ever be made aware of his presence. All the same, he considered his life far more valuable than any one of theirs. And it one or two deaths would make his task easier….

Hopefully it would not come to that.

*****

Holding true to his assumption that infiltrating the building would prove unchallenging, Noble Six ghosted through halls and down stairwells with soundless poise, bypassing the occasional feline tapping away at a keyboard in one of the myriad of walled cubicles. Night, as always, proved to be the optimum time to maintain stealth. Of the seven floors he had already cleared, he only need circumvent a handful of late night workers. His motion tracker was quite useful in that field, keeping his movements invisible and his presence unnoticed.

The system of cameras proved to be the most trouble, which was to say very little, the spartan leaving a trail of looped surveillance videos that would be undetected and untraceable until long after they had returned to normal operation.

“Were you there when Ann caught footage of those crazy slime monsters?”

Hearing voices, Six paused outside the breakroom, a mellow glow illuminating the darkened hallway he had been gliding through.

“Was I there? Was I there? Damnit Mitch, I was her freaking camera kat! Of course I was there. I almost got eaten!” 

“Dang… really?”

The spartan discerned movement within the small employee kitchen, his motion tracker identifying two contacts approaching from ahead and he swiftly retreated into one of the empty cubicles he had passed previously. Not a second later two felines, both males, vacated the room and headed off down the hall he had entered from, their discussion fading into silence as they disappeared around the bend.

Six waited a minute longer for anyone else to follow before he continued on with the mission. Barring the previous incident, he didn’t encounter any other roving personnel, locating his objective a further three floors down, behind a door quite evidently labeled Server Access.

The keycard locked barrier proved to only be a negligible obstruction, the computer on his forearm proving far stronger than whatever encryption the security measure utilized. He stopped however, before opening the door, his tracker alerting him to the presence of a single individual inside, eight meters from the doorway.

The soldier looked to his pistol, and reluctantly stowed it away, retrieving instead the knife sheathed to his left shoulderplate. If he was pressed into confrontation, he did not want to leave any ballistics for local police to retrieve and analyze. He would have liked even less to have to pry a bullet out of a feline’s skull or a concrete wall.

The blade, while messier, would suit his need to remain anonymous in the event he needed more than his strength to secure success. The possibility that this alien could overpower him physically was negligible, but he had not lived this long by taking unnecessary risks.  

He did feel, to some infinitesimal degree, guilt at the ease with which he discounted the life of an alien, a person, unaligned with the Covenant or insurrection. It was no within his ethics to harm non-combatants, or at least it had been before ONI shifted him into wetwork. Since then his hands had been bloodied by political revolutionists and public ‘dissidents’. He promised himself, that if it came down to it, if it was a choice to preserve his secrecy, and end a life… he would make it quick, if not painless.

He opened the door wide enough to slip inside, closing it soundlessly behind him.

The interior of the server room, much like any he had seen before if somewhat primitive, was a series of massive machines set in identical rows, equidistant between the other. At his immediate entry he saw no sign of the alien currently inhabiting the room with him. Realizing that it must be inside one of the aisle and was not an immediate threat to his discovery, he slightly loosened his grip on the knife. The spartan skirted silently across lanes of immense computer equipment, until he had halved the distance between himself and the other occupant.

Ready to move in if he would be spotted, the spartan peered around the corner of the adjacent server node, noticing the turned back of a somewhat lanky feline in blue overalls and a dark grey dress shirt. Sitting beside him on the floor was a small laptop, a set of color coded wires leading from the tiny machine and into the closest computing tower.

Somewhat relieved, the augmented supersoldier sheathed his knife and stepped out from behind his concealment. His ensuing neutralization of the technician was relatively effortless. Wrapping his arm around the feline’s neck, he swiftly rendered him unconscious with a subtle increase in pressure.

However it would not last long, maybe two minutes before he returned to awareness. Arranging the alien so that it would appear as if he had fallen asleep while working, the spartan hooked his TACPAD into the workstation and activated the data tunneler. Thirty seconds later and he was already outside the room and on his way back to the roof.

With only the need to retrace his steps, he was out on the rooftop, waiting for his tunneling software to finish its work long before the technician would wake up with a slight headache, thinking he had taken a nap during his shift.  

If Six were to take into consideration his previous usage of the intelligence gathering datamine, it would probably take an hour for the software to infect their computer systems and create a backdoor for his TACPAD to access their online network. Thirty minutes after that and he should have admission to the city’s blueprints, historical articles, any potential GPS satellites, and whatever material he could gather from their internet.

He intended to use that interim productively.

Now that he would eventually obtain the facts he needed, it was time to find a location where he could analyze what would undoubtedly be thousands of pages of relevant information, without worrying about discovery or placing himself too far away from the city and possible opportunities. Even if he were to disregard ninety percent of the data, it would still take days to collect even a remedial conceptualization of an entirely foreign society.

He was not anticipating the undeniably enormous task lying ahead of him. Usually his missions were already vetted by ONI, with a short, concise brief on his objective and mission parameters. Trapped on this world without outside assistance, he was denied this luxury and was compelled to act independently and amass his own data.

This was not beyond the scope of his abilities, he had trained for similar situations where he was beyond the guidance of his handler or any other form of leadership. His only frustration lay in the fact that doing his own intelligence gathering would severely hinder his movements and limit his capabilities to launch future missions.

Dwelling on the impending adversities that stood between him and his overall objective, the spartan set out to search for a suitable location from which to conduct his strategic planning. There would be much to do if he was going to find a way back to the UNSC. And he would need a hideout from which to stage his operations.

The coming days would be a true test of his abilities, deprived as he was of even basic mission support utilities and isolated from friendly assets. This forced him to consider the very real probability of failure. If he were to survive he would have to avoid open conflict with the native inhabitants. Despite their comparatively unsophisticated technology, he could not hope to defeat the collective militaries of an entire planet unaided.

The spartan also realized that he could not allow them to remain in possession of the wreckage from his sabre. Destroyed as it had been, it was still prototype UNSC hardware that he could not allow an unaffiliated association to study and potentially reverse engineer.

He had his next task.

Once he was well established and had some bare bones concept of what mess he had landed in, he would have to discover where they moved the debris, and initiate procedures for asset denial. Gut instinct from his experiences told him it would not be as easy as it sounded, and considering how difficult it already appeared, he was not entirely encouraged by the uncertainty of his future.

Nevertheless he would not fail in his duties.

Not again.