Authors notes:

I'll try to be brief. In my native tongue, that translates into "close, but no cigar."

I'd like to thank all of the amazing writers on here. Anyone who throws a story out there for nothing but the joy of it deserves some respect. But there are some authors out there who directly inspired me.

To you guys and/or gals, thank you. I sincerely hope you all do the world a favor and pursue writing in some professional capacity.

Okay! On to some story details. First, I'm a mega fan of both franchises. I'm all over the lore beyond the games and try to be as accurate as I can. I've read a lot of stories for this exact crossover. And I've spent hours upon hours trying to integrate the most likely physics between the two in the spirit of a fair comparison... and then I realized that neither are exactly hard sci-fi and I needed to take some artistic liberties for both the sake of combining realities AND my own sanity.

Now, watching Chief tear across the ME universe is always a trip. But I wanted a story about someone less developed, less sure of themselves, maybe a bit unstable. I wanted a story about redemption.

Noble Six was a perfect candidate. The Fall of Reach was a shock to all of humanity. Well, except ONI, Hood, and Halsey. But going from a solo badass to a team player and, within a few weeks, it all turned to ash; I wanted that guy. He's not broken, he's shaken. Not shattered, just wounded. He never had the chance on that team to know what being part of a team meant. And he's a Spartan III which means he's just a hair emotionally unstable with limitless potential for growth. And so I decided to give him a new team... Albeit not the one he would have chosen.

I also took as much care as possible to ensure Six was RUTHLESSLY lethal. To quote Zorg, "Tell you what I do like though: a killer. A dyed-in-the-wool killer. Cold-blooded, clean, methodical and thorough." That's the spirit in which I tried to write his action scenes. His personality will develop over time, as will his relationships with people, but he's a Spartan first before all else.

I also read a lot of stories where things were accidental. Chief's slipspace portal back from the Ark on the Forward Unto Dawn was a perfect way to launch a lot of these stories but I wanted something just a touch more sinister. So I threw in a healthy dose of intention rather than chance.

Additionally, I tried to stay as true to the canon, stats, physics, characters, and their potential interactions as I could. Hell, I watched YouTube playthroughs just to make sure I got some of the conversations right. At this point I can safely say that, in many respects, ME has better tech.

There, I said it.

I LOVE Halo but Mass Effect has a much sleeker, well-refined, and efficient set of technologies, albeit limited by element zero.

BUT, ME is also a bit softer. The Alliance has had skirmishes but nothing major since the First Contact War and even that was a matter of months. They are a humanity that enjoys a booming economy, status, technological advancement, and are basically more concerned with where they are in the Council races than anything else. Their biggest challenge is jockeying for position. Shepard is an exception and portrayed here as a little rough, sarcastic, darkly comedic, but a good leader. Militaristic, sure, but human and likeable. The Alliance is basically more akin to the United Federation of Planets in Star Trek than it is anything else. Nothing to mess with, but not overly militaristic either and they've enjoyed enough peace to forget what a war really looks like.

The UNSC, however, is a different monster (emphasis on monster). There are many who have known ONLY a lifetime of war. It's a humanity pushed to the brink, hunted, desperate. They're also tenacious, aggressive, and morally ambiguous. The UNSC has been at war against an advanced and overwhelming force for almost three decades and lost almost every engagement despite brilliant tactics and technological advancement bred only by the desperate struggle to live. Their only "victories" delayed the inevitable and they were almost more costly than beneficial. Where the Alliance would counterpunch an enemy, the UNSC would slit a throat before the fight started. They exist for a singular purpose; survive and inflict as much damage as possible until their inevitable end. Their weapons use cartridges because they're cheap, easily mass produced, and work well enough to justify making more. "Hey, General, think we should make our ships better looking or something?" "Nah, just build a steel plated brick and put as many gigantic 'F *& YOU' guns as you can fit on there."

My opinion? Sure Mass Effect has the upper hand in ground engagements with biotics, advanced weapons, shields, etc. Space can go either way in my opinion but this is also the UNSC in 2552, not 2558 when the Infinity was the God brick. But I also feel like a fleet of evenly matched UNSC forces against an ME equivalent would annihilate the ME fleet. The UNSC would bring everything to the table, sacrifice whatever was necessary, take every advantage, and fight to kill rather than just win. They'd pull nothing, use decades worth of tactics that worked against superior enemies, and force the battle to be fought on their terms.

Tough call.

Anyways. I hope you enjoy it!

What Comes After Winter

"There are so many stories where some brave hero gives their life to save the day, and because of their sacrifice the good guys win, the survivors all cheer, and everybody lives happily ever after. But the hero never gets to see that ending. They'll never know if their sacrifice actually made a difference. They'll never know the day was really saved. In the end, they just have to have faith...ain't that a bitch?" -unknown and unusually talkative UNSC soldier

Chapter 1 - Spartans Never Die

August 30th, 2552

Epsilon Eridani II (Reach)

Wind was blasting by as the Covenant approached rapidly. The Pelican hovered there with Captain Keyes of UNSC Pillar of Autumn having just been given a fragment AI. Emile had just been taken out by Covenant troops. Six represented the last of Noble Team and they both knew he was their best chance. The Spartan wondered why the ride out of there had even been offered.

"Lieutenant, get aboard! We gotta get the hell outta here!"

The Spartan III didn't hesitate. Never did. He moved his gaze from where Emile had fallen, then to what Reach had become when the plasma rain came down, then turned to look Captain Keyes in his eyes.

"Negative," he responded. "I have the gun. Good luck, sir."

The Captain, however, did hesitate. He just stared at the Spartan, now walking away, who would ensure their survival at the cost of his own. At that moment, the Captain finally understood what they had started with those 75 children all those years ago that had eventually led to the man before him now. Maybe not the same generation, but no less the caliber. This one had as much guts as any of his predecessors.

The Captain nodded in response, his face pulled tight and grim.

"Good luck to YOU, Spartan..."

That had been hours ago. Six had taken the gun and covered the escaping UNSC personnel from the Covenant, even dropping a super carrier in the process. He'd even smirked under his helmet but the smile died as quickly as it had appeared at the time.

He'd encountered teams and even a squad size element of the enemy here and there since then. His Mjolnir Mk V had held up surprisingly well so far but he couldn't say the same for himself. It had been weeks since he'd slept properly, eaten a decent meal, had his wounds treated, or even shaved. It was what he was built for but even he had limits fast approaching. He figured he didn't have much time left as he looked around his former home. It was a shadow of what it once was. His feet shifted and his ears were met with the sound of crunching glass. Hot wind battered against his armor even as the suit kept him cool. Once their fortress among the stars, the military center of humanity, Reach was now a wasteland. Only whispers, glass, and ghosts remained. It hadn't been his home long but he'd fought for it, bled for it, and now he'd die on it.

"Reach has been good to me..." The echoes of a ghost in his mind. Six grimaced, remembering his towering teammate.

He picked up his M392 DMR and checked the clip. He loaded it back up and leaned it against his leg then did the same with his M6G Magnum. Slapping that back on his thigh, he pulled the M90 shotgun from his back and checked it. Again, full. He was only carrying what was in the guns now. No extra rounds. He exhaled forcefully and placed the shotgun into its magnetic hold on his back, kicked the DMR off the ground and caught it.

"I'm ready! How 'bout you!" Another whisper of the fallen forced its way through his mind.

He was ready, he thought to himself. No mission, no objective, just his own personal vendetta to take as many of these bastards with him as he could. His last stand and his final duty. What he had lived for.

He turned his head toward the sudden sound of commotion. His body soon followed. He counted maybe 16 of them at first glance, barely making out their silhouettes through the dust and ash. They were approaching his position but he felt no need to move. He just stood there; defiant, DMR in hand, no cover. He briefly wondered which one of these would deliver the final blow. He wasn't going to make it easy on them. No, even luck wouldn't count here for his approaching hostiles. Not against the best that he knew he could be for a while longer yet. He counted 6 Elites, 2 Jackals, and and 8 Grunts bearing down on him slowly on their patrol. 16 enemies and him.

'Close enough for a fair fight,' he thought.

Even as one of them finally caught sight of him and he lifted his rifle to his shoulder, he didn't shake. He was calm. The Grunt out in front cupped it's eyes to try and make out the Spartan III's appearance. Then he tapped another grunt to try and confirm what he thought he saw and now two pairs of eyes squinted to see Six.

"Tell 'em to make it count," brushed the edges of his consciousness. Another teammate gone.

The grunts were now crying out, calling the lone wolf's position out to the others. As they all rounded on him he zoomed in, exhaled until there was no pressure in his chest, and gently squeezed. The bark of the Elite in Red to engage him cut short by the successive cracks of his DMR delivering it's payload. Three shots, three dead Grunts.

"...get off calling a demolition op priority one," as he saw her fall dead in his mind all over again. The whip of the sniper shot that killed her in his memory timed perfectly to his DMR as he shot the fourth grunt in the head just as it activated it's plasma grenades. The other Covenant leapt out of the way but not fast enough for the two remaining grunts. The Elites moved to surround him as he opened fire on the Jackals. Round after round ejected from his DMR and slammed against their two shields. His own shields flickered as he felt the dull impact of plasma rounds splash against him but they held. He felt the searing heat cook his skin for the umpteenth time in his recent history. He moved forward now, legs pistoning to a blur, pumping the last round of his DMR into a Jackal's head. He dropped the rifle and pulled his shotgun free, grabbing one of the enemy shields with his free hand and yanking back, bringing his weapon down and unloading point blank into the slender alien's now exposed chest. He batted the shield of the remaining Jackal out of the way as it opened fire with its pistol.

The round connected even as he was swinging around full force, sending the creature spinning on its toes. He dropped it with another blast before it hit the ground. He was caught from behind by a blast from another plasma rifle. He whipped around and saw two of them bearing down on him. He leapt at one, putting one enemy in front of another as his shields finally flickered and died under their combined assault. He got two shots off before the Elite yanked the barrel of the shotgun away from its trajectory. But the aliens' shields were already down. With a grunt, Six lashed out with his foot and caught the alien square in the chest and heard the wet crunch of armor crushing elite bones. One down.

He caught more plasma rounds from the enemy now in front of him that was behind the first. They splashed across his chest piece and he felt the heat underneath his armor rise to scalding. An overcharge shot caught him in the same spot moments later. His armor buckled under the stress and he felt the searing pain of plasma burns on his shoulders, neck, and stomach. His armor had at least dissipated the impact. Six caught another round to the faceplate. It cracked and his HUD flickered before going dark and he staggered.

"You're on your own, Noble..." Carter's words now ringing in his ears. He had been alone since Onyx. The Lone Wolf.

But he wasn't done. Not yet. He ripped his helmet off and threw it aside. He spied an assault rifle and grabbed it as an elite ran for him. He whipped it up into position and unloaded half a clip into the behemoth as it bellowed it's last.

Spartan Time overtook him as the pain he had felt earlier was now a dull ache. Adrenaline flooded him now, even as he was going into shock as more plasma rounds poured into him. He heard the tell-tale snap and hiss of an energy sword behind him and he spun, whipping high, hard, and fast with the butt of his rifle, catching the elite in the jaw and neck with enough force to crush shields and fracture vertebrae. The elite fell but more plasma seared under his suit and into his skin from behind.

"Didn't you know," he said quietly. Whipping around to paint the elite that had opened fire in lead. He had just gotten the shields down on his enemy when another burst of plasma struck him from his right side. His neck, chest, thighs, shoulder, and chest catching almost every round. He didn't even feel the sting of the rounds anymore. His hands were twitching now, shock setting in as his senses dulled. He pulled around to empty the rest of his rounds into the new threat. The Elite to his left charged and bulldozed him. Landing painfully on his back, he launched a leg at the approaching elite and sent it sailing. The leader, a full-fledged Zealot, had it's sword drawn and stabbed at him. He tried to roll but it caught him in the shoulder between socket and ball and went all the way through. He yelled and pulled the alien in with his damaged arm and slammed his combat knife home into the red devil's eye socket.

"Spartans never die," he growled at his enemies.

He cried his last words as the the killing blow approached from the sword drawn in the hand of the Elite he had kicked earlier. He smiled at the monster and waited for the inevitable. He'd look his killer in the eyes. His fight was over. The elite charged.

5 quick shots to the head of the Elite and the shields died on the approaching covenant combatant. The 6th caught the monster in his mandibles and the alien fell in a heap and gurgled it's last.

Noble Six looked around, pain lancing through every enhanced nerve ending. He tried to pinpoint his savior, sure that someone had just saved his neck. But no one was there. Just the dead and the soon to be.

He heard a crunch to his right and he looked down to see his pistol falling from his own fingers into the dust and glass beneath him. He'd forgotten he'd even had it. But his reflexes hadn't.

Noble Six breathed slowly, trying to regain his senses, and coughed up blood even as he chuckled. Kurt and Mendez hadn't taken any shortcuts in training. His had been a brutal life. From orphan to soldier, soldier to Spartan, Spartan to hyper lethal vector. And all it had ensured at this point was a much slower death. He heard the low whir that told him his shields were back up. He laughed again, not sure if he was lucky or unlucky to even be alive on this desolate rock. He focused, forcing the shock to dissipate so he could function again.

He slowly and carefully raised himself to a sitting position. Slapping his pistol back on his hip, he collected both of the energy swords and attached them to his lower back. Next was two plasma rifles, one on his back, one on his other hip. He pulled his combat knife out of the eye of the red elite and pushed it back into its sheath on his left shoulder.

He limped back over to his shotgun and picked it up. Four rounds. Not much but it would be enough to attract an enemy that could hopefully finish the job. He picked up his helmet, groaning at the pain of bending over. His headgear was useless now. He pulled the memory from it and put the chip in a spare pouch before dropping the helmet where it lay.

He limped for he didn't know how long. No other hostiles appeared, no more fly-overs. The shock was starting to wear off and so was his adrenaline now. His Mjolnir was damaged but functional, if only just. The biofoam he used had done enough of itss job to keep him from leaking but he didn't know for how long. He was just happy the force multipliers and power still functioned. His only concern now was to make it somewhere he could attract enough attention to inflict some more casualties before joining his brothers and sister. And he had an idea where he might find something like that.

When he finally came upon FLEETCOM, he wasn't surprised to see it had also been mostly torn to pieces. He limped to the caved in structures. Six was tired, frayed, on the brink, but determined.

He shuffled into the building through one of the many holes, consistently surprised at the lack of enemy forces. He grimly supposed that glassing a planet didn't need a whole lot of ground support for any real length of time. Besides, when the Autumn headed into slip-space, he was sure at least some of the fleet would try and follow.

Hobbling, he made his way over to the giant armored door to CASTLE base located underneath the facility. He located the panel from his last visit. It was a wonder it was still intact. The glimmering light under the buttons told him it still had power. He began pressing buttons trying to get it open but quickly grew frustrated when nothing happened. Hoping against hope, he pushed the intercom button.

"Is anyone there?" His voice was gravelly. Breathing dust and waste had dried him out and he coughed. Only static responded to his question.

"This is Lieutenant Sierra Bravo 312, does anyone copy? Respond."

More static. He sighed. As the idea that he might succumb to his wounds here at this damn door dawned on him he punched the wall, splintering the granite slab.

"Goddammit, is anyone there!"

More of that godforsaken static. "Fine," he said more to the door than the intercom. "I'm going to make my own door."

He had just turned to limp away when the static cleared into a low buzz. He turned to the panel again, heavy eyes narrowed. He stumbled back to the panel and tried hitting more buttons but to no avail.

"Fuck this." He curtly said and turned once again to carry out on his earlier threat. He stopped dead when a voice finally came through.

"Lieutenant, language," it said with a bemused tone. He knew that voice.

"Halsey," he responded simply, turning to face the intercom.

"Oh, please. Call me Doctor."

He wanted to argue but resisted the urge knowing that she was the only one who could open the door.

"Doctor Halsey, can open this door?"

A long pause greeted him. A full minute passed but he waited patiently.

"What are you hoping to find down here exactly," she finally responded. "If you're looking for Jun, he's already left. If you're trying to protect me, you can see that I'm quite fine down here." A short pause before she added, "if you'd like to join me down here to wait and hope for some miraculous rescue, I'm sure MY Spartans will be along sooner or later."

He could practically hear her arrogant smirk at the mention of HER Spartans. Annoyed now, Six snapped back angrily, "No, Doctor. I don't want to join you. I want enough firepower to make a mess."

He heard a click and the whirring of pneumatic pumps firing up behind the armored door.

"Why didn't you say so? I'll meet you."

The door slowly ground open, metal screeching as it slowly swung wide enough for him to get through. He shuffled through and the door began to close behind him as the heavy clunk and hiss of locks sliding back into place echoed in the room. He heard the elevator come to life to his side and slowly made his way to it.

The doors opened and there she stood. Every inch, she was, the legend she was supposed to be. Sharp eyes took him all in and he suddenly felt as if every secret thought was now known to her. She looked him up and down, surveying his sorry state and damaged armor. Her face never wavered but her eyes showed just a hint of concern and perhaps a touch of wonder.

"Hyper lethal, indeed. How many?"

Six shrugged as white hot pain forced his shoulders back down. "Maybe 50. Give or take 20."

The Doctor nodded. "Did you have any plan for this suicide mission or were you set on nobly going down with the ship. Pardon the pun."

He paused, not holding her gaze for a moment. There were no orders, no command. He really only saw one option. Ultimately ignoring her question, he posed his own. "Are you going to let me in?"

She stood to the side and made room for him. She looked over the blood again, both red and blue.

"Well, I can't say I'm pleased with the state of my armor," she quipped. He leaned back against the wall, grunting in pain as the elevator began its descent.

He could feel her looking at him but he said nothing. When the elevator passed the Aqua Level he finally looked at her. "We passed the armory," he said simply.

"I thought we'd visit my place first. I have a thing or two that might help."

"Whatever you have, I won't need it."

She shrugged. "You may be surprised. When I was creating Spartans, they considered being as combat ready as they could to be as essential as breathing. But then, your kind was a little more defiant. Prone to emotional problems and aggression, weren't they." It wasn't a question. And he didn't feel like answering anyway.

They landed on Scarlett Level and the elevator stopped. She walked out ahead of him and he slowly followed. They passed her office, where he thought they were heading, and made their way to what appeared to Six to be an underground hospital. She pointed to a spot next to a surgical table. He dutifully walked over and stood where she indicated. She spent several minutes pulling liquids into syringes.

She put them on a tray, along with biofoam, and moved toward him, placing the tray on the surgical bed. "I assume you don't mind needles," she said dryly.

"What are you giving me, Doctor?"

She held up what was obviously a blood pack. He briefly wondered how she would stick it in his arm but she reached up and swabbed his neck instead. "I assume in the interest of time, you don't mind using the jugular vein, correct?"

He nodded and she plunged the needle home. The small motor attached to the needle buzzed as it started to refill his lost blood.

"Besides, if we peeled you from that suit now, no doubt you'd need surgery. It's probably, between that and the biofoam, the only thing holding you together..." She trailed off and he looked straight ahead as she looked at him.

"Lieutenant, are you sure you don't want to stay?" Her tone suggested she was sincere. He risked a glance at her. He knew she meant it. The faces of his team flashed in his mind just as the guilt flooded him. Not just of the failure he felt to protect them, but that he had lived when they hadn't. It was there for just a moment and then gone in almost the same instant. He raised his head and looked straight ahead.

"I'm sure, ma'am."

Halsey began to distribute the biofoam across his wounds and the damaged armor. It was enough to keep him in one piece and would probably make the suit space worthy again, if only for a short period. She held one of the syringes up, then flicked it, bringing bubbles to the tip of the needle before pushing on the plunger to clear it of air.

"And you intend to, what, just take as many with you as you can?"

She walked around to the other side of his neck and brought another needle to his skin.

"If I could do more, I would."

She plunged one needle after another into his neck. "That was polymerized hemoglobin, dermacortic steroids, polypseudomorphine, and chorotazine since you insist on wandering around without a helmet. All of these will probably make you feel worse before you feel better but it should hold together just long enough to get yourself killed."

She pulled out another syringe, bigger than the others with a noticeably thicker gauge needle. Whatever was in it looked like several full ounces worth of shimmering liquid. It had a silvery sheen to it. It looked like mercury. She saw him raise an eyebrow.

"It's phenylcyclohexylpiperidine. A sort of rumbledrug, really. Much safer. Especially for someone with your physiology. Slow release stimulant and will help with stopping those wounds."

He grimaced as the large needle delivered it's payload. It felt like ice in his veins, then fire, before dissipating. He could swear he felt it circulate. Feeling mildly more alert, he looked around, finally taking stock of his surroundings.

"What is this place," Six asked as he looked around at the many beds.

She looked around with an almost forlorn face, eyes glowing. "This, Lieutenant, is where the Spartan program was born. Right here on Reach, as I'm sure you know. 75 genetically gifted children. We turned them into the best hope for humanity, though we didn't know it then..." She gazed down the room at the many beds. He could see her sadness. "They were trained here. When they were ready, the augmentations, rudimentary and dangerous as they were then, were performed in a station in orbit. Those that rejected the procedure, required additional care, or Spartans injured or killed were brought here. Many say that the enhancements is when they became true Spartans... But they were forged in fire long before then. They were all unique and brimming with potential before we ever took them. The alterations only made them more efficient at being what they had already become."

She shook herself and met his gaze.

"Though I hear Kurt has done the same thing with your kind. I've even heard that the training was tougher in some instances. Of course, I couldn't picture anything like that but, who better to train the Spartan threes than a Spartan two, I suppose. What happened to your companies... What they made your kind give for our benefit. I'm truly sorry."

Cryptic even in her sincerity, he nodded curtly at her empathy.

"What do you think, Lieutenant? Do you believe you're on par with your progenitors?"

"I did the best I could to be the best I could. Doesn't matter what I believe."

He returned her stare and she seemed to soften.

"I was hoping you'd say something like that. Counted on it, in fact. Cortana chose you to carry her fragment. I feel that we don't yet know the significance of that but we may soon get our chance. Lieutenant, what if I had a mission for you?"

She was right, he felt impossibly worse than he did before as the injections took hold, even with the painkillers. He pulled the blood bag needle out of his neck just as the motor clicked off from the empty blood bag. He looked at her incredulously.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. ONI has their tricks and games, but I always win. Know why? Short-sightedness. They want to WIN a war. I want to END it, but I'd settle for survival. Even if a bit unconventional, I believe I've found a way. Although maybe not in time and definitely not without some drawbacks. As I watch them, they watch me..." She trailed off but Six pushed past it.

"What did you have in mind?"

She smiled. "Just like that? What if I told you the odds were one in a million? That your likelihood of failure is almost guaranteed? That you'll probably die today either way?"

"But there's a chance," he pushed.

She nodded slowly, face giving away nothing.

"What do you need," he asked flatly.

She motioned for him to follow and made a beeline out of med bay and to her office. Six briefly looked around the tables where legends had once been before turning to follow her.

"The military loves their protocols. If they had their way, everything would be quantifiable, organized, and fit in a neat little box. When they announced the Winter Contingency on Reach, it sparked a laundry list of other protocols. Everyone was so surprised... Winter Contingency. Here. At the center of humanity's military might. I remember speaking with Hood about this eventuality. It was a statistical certainty. Now that it's here, I am supposed to be executing the White Glove protocol."

"They want all of this destroyed?"

"Oh yes. ONI is so protective of their toys. However, there's something I would loathe to see erased. In fact, I wonder if that wasn't part of their plan. I believe it's too valuable. I've already disposed of Araqiel but there's more than a few AI's down here that I won't be parting with just yet. But what I want you to take is something that humanity would benefit from if they could get it."

"And you want me to take it to them."

She paused at her door then turned to look at him. "If that's easier, then, yes. I want you to take something to them. The journey, I imagine, will be more important than the destination."

She opened the door and was greeted by another voice. "Hello, Doctor Halsey. I see we have a guest." An AI, he realized, as she manifested in front of him in her digital form.

"How very astute, Kalmiya," the aging doctor responded sarcastically.

"I aim to please," the AI responded. Six cocked an eyebrow at her choice of words.

"Kalmiya, I need you to load and assemble Protocol Foothold." The doctor spoke mechanically as she began sifting around on her desk. She pocketed a notebook, a permanent marker, and a pen.

"Are you sure, Doctor? The parameters of our models did not account for current circumstances. The chances that this one could even secure a slip-space capable ship are infinitesimal. And even with that accomplished, the calculations and simulations are nowhere near complete enough to..."

Halsey held up a hand to silence her creation. "It's the only option available to us." The doctor looked at Noble Six but continued to speak only to her AI. "You know what happens next, with or without this. I may very well have to wipe every scrap of data we have, including Foothold, and even you. Years of research wasted. Can you calculate the idea of losing all that and how long it would take us to rebuild?"

The AI figure closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Of course, doctor Halsey," the AI responded. "Materials needed are in the armory, though lacking in some respects. We did not receive all components, per our earlier discussion. There's a replacement from Beweglichkeitsrüstungsysteme available in addition to a full set, extra parts, and pieces. The construct is in your desk where you left it. It should suffice."

As the AI closed her eyes to assemble whatever Foothold was, Halsey continued to speak with Six.

"I need you to deliver some documents and other items," Halsey said, finally speaking to the Spartan. She collected what appeared to be two data crystal chips from a desk drawer. She put one in her lab coat pocket and held up the remaining chip in front of Six.

"This is far beyond even my reckoning, Lieutenant. This is our one in a million. This is perhaps the most important potential discovery that we have at our disposal. This chip could very well save our entire species. It also might be absolutely nothing. If it stays, it will be wiped like everything else and then we will never know. But you can do what I could not."

It was an orange hue. Six eyed it suspiciously. What was this mad scientist on about?

"If I were to give this to you, how would you get it off of this planet?" It was a simple question but answering it stretched the tired Spartan's mind. His enhanced synapses calculated odds and possible avenues.

"Modify my original plan," he said casually after a moment of thought. "Get enough attention to attract a dropship, use the dropship to infiltrate a smaller covenant ship. Clear the ship, jump to Alpha Site in New Mombasa."

She stared at him with a mildly amused look but he held her gaze.

"Determined to make it, I see. And what about the Covenant on that ship who will stop at nothing to see you fail?"

The Spartan shrugged, even as pain arced through his shoulders and neck. "Thought I'd try shooting my way through," he said simply. "If it goes south, I have the Mjolnir failsafe. Still leaves everything White Glove."

The Doctor crossed her arms and sat on the front of her desk. She was quiet and pensive before looking up at him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but sincere.

"You remind me of him..." she finally said as if remembering something long ago and far away. "That quiet confidence... I may not have agreed with your program, Spartan, but you and your team have certainly earned your titles here on Reach." She seemed like she had more to say but held her peace and instead held out the chip. "Can you do this, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He nodded, finally accepting the data crystal as she held it out to him again and settling it away into one of the pouches that hadn't been destroyed.

He looked up but she was unreadable once again.

"Well then, let's get you outfitted." She moved to the door and he followed.

They spent the elevator ride back to Aqua Level in silence. When the doors opened she walked in front of him and he followed her into the armory. He searched around for a few moments and promptly began to load himself up. He filled every available and intact pouch, reloaded his shotgun, and grabbed another DMR and placed it on his back next to the plasma rifle. He heard some grunting and looked over to the doctor who had fished an ODST helmet from a bottom shelf. She looked like she was examining the back of it but he couldn't see for sure. She brought the clearly used helmet to him and gestured for him to bend. He bent over and she put it on, testing the seal and activating the HUD.

"It won't display your shield level, but it should keep you from any further head trauma. This version has VISR, not that it will do you any good, and basic weapon and ammunition readout. It's not ideal but it will at least sync with your neural interface and keep your head in one piece."

He nodded as the faceplate polarized and the BIOS flashed before it read his neural interface. His estimated health readout flashed in red. He didn't mention it showed between 30-35%. She held out a canister, gesturing that he turn around.

"The MK V doesn't have the injectors so keep this handy. If I had a MK VI around here I'd certainly give it to you. But until you find proper medical personnel and a facility, removing that armor now is too risky. Until then, this will have to suffice." She connected it to an available strap on his armor

"There's a Mk VI?" He asked. Now that was something he was interested in.

"They've been working on it for a long time now. As soon as one version is done, they're already working on the next. I say that as if I'm not the one doing it. The Mk VI isn't even finished beyond preliminary tests and there are already plans for a Mk VII. Nothing mass produced for the VI within the next few months, at least, but there are test models around. Even some variants that privately contracted companies have been working on. Those are more rare. Here on Reach, and being the creator of the original Spartan program and Mjolnir, has it's advantages when ordering test models. As I said, though, if I had any then I would give them to you."

He hung his head a little. A MK VI would have been a hell of a thing to try on and he missed it by that much.

"Your power supply looks damaged. It's safety and containment features are intact, however. No immediate risk of going critical." She looked at some other information read out on his back. "Shields holding at 74% so at least you'll have some protection." She lightly grabbed his arm and turned him to face her.

"You'll find four big, green boxes next to the conveyor belt in the room past this one. They are essential to your mission. They're sealed, durable, and not to be opened. ONI may be a circus but they're good with packaging at least. Believe me, none of it was easy to secure. It wasn't meant for you. It was meant for Fred. But I think you're uniquely suited for this. Only open them if you read the situation as hopeless." She left no room for a question. Six was suddenly very aware how this civilian had outshone her military counterparts, how she had known about his program in the first place.

"Understood."

She nodded. "Good. Now load those crates on the conveyor. When you leave the armory, follow the hallway to the right all the way down. I think I can help with the first part of your plan"

Six shook his head in annoyance as she spun on her heel and exited. He made his way to the next section and found the boxes. They were about 1 meter high, 1.5 meters wide, and at least another meter deep. He turned the conveyor on and saw the spinning yellow light activate as the motors hummed to life and the belt began to rotate. He grabbed the first box and severely underestimated the weight, nearly dropping it. He could only guess at what was inside. He braced himself and hefted it again, this time successfully moving it to the conveyor belt. Each box was heavier than the last and he felt the pain in every wound, every sore muscle, and every overtaxed tendon as he almost cried out moving the last box. It disappeared behind the flaps. He was breathing heavy now and steadied himself for a moment before limping out of the door. His headache had only gotten worse and he was even feeling a bit dizzy now but he noted that his limp had improved.

He slowly made his way down the hallway and pressed the pad next to the door as it lifted. He smiled almost imperceptibly at what his eyes landed on. That doctor was a very crafty woman.

Before him stood a pelican, unblemished from the war that had been waged overhead and gleaming even in the low light. He heard a slam and he turned to see Halsey slowly standing back up after having been hunched over the boxes he'd sent on the conveyor.

She wiped the palms of her hands on her lab coat as she strode over to him. He nodded his head in the direction of the pelican.

"Plan B," he said.

She smiled wryly at his comment. "Don't be mistaken, Lieutenant. This will not be easy, no matter what happens next. A situation like this, you can make all the right decisions and still lose."

He sobered somewhat at that.

"Well, come on. Those boxes won't load themselves."

He hurried over to them and lifted one to carry it over to the open hatch of the Pelican. "What's in these?"

She brushed him away as he walked by her. "Classified, Lieutenant. I'm sure you understand. And they will stay that way until the situation reads hopeless."

He walked by her on his way to the second one. Whatever she had given him earlier was still making his head spin but his pain level was finally subsiding, the soreness becoming less. He hefted the second box and began walking toward his escape craft while she began her instructions.

"There's a CRS class cruiser in orbit. I'd guess since it's almost directly above us that it might be down 50 soldiers. Give or take 20," she said dryly.

"If you can make it inside, all you need to do is get to the bridge and install that chip. I know covenant systems may look confusing but that chip will automatically sync with any port. Shouldn't take long."

Six moved for the third box and walked back to the Pelican.

"The Pelican is fully stocked with a hard drop load out," she continued" You won't be hurting for weapons on your trip. There's even some spare parts under the deck plating. Your ODST helmet will link with the weapons system just fine."

He dropped the last box in the Pelican and ensured all four were strapped down. The Pelican could easily handle the couple tons of his estimated weight worth of cargo but it would alter his trajectory when maneuvering. The seals on the door looked good and the cockpit canopy was undamaged. He really hoped that his suit was still capable of hard vacuum. Raising an eyebrow, he worked his way back to her. He had suddenly had a thought.

"Is this chip an AI?" He asked.

"Not that particular one. It's a series of self-altering algorithms, formulas, and automated processes built for singular purpose. It does, however, have very basic interaction routines. It's more akin to a dumb AI. Purpose built. Why?"

"Will it respond to vocal commands?"

Now she was interested. A smile played along the corners of her mouth.

"It does, yes. But only for specific purposes. Along with its intended purpose, it also has rudimentary subroutines for the most basic functions of software writing. Again, why?"

"Can this thing vent the atmosphere on a ship?"

She gave a genuine smile, the first he'd seen since they'd met at the door.

"Unconventional and creative. I like it! Yes, it should respond to a simple command like that. No guarantees, but it's simple software to write and process."

He nodded. "I'll send someone as soon as I make it wherever I end up."

"I like the confidence, Lieutenant, but try to keep an open mind about everything that happens. Under no circumstances are you to lose that chip. And when you insert that chip, it will handle the slipspace for you. Wherever you come out, you may be in a bad way but I imagine you won't be alone for long."

"Covenant," he said simply.

"You wouldn't believe how unlikely that might be. As I said, open mind. Not everyone is your enemy."

"Understood."

"We'll see. I also read about your work with the Sabre program. Think you can handle that thing," she asked as she nodded to the Pelican.

He nodded affirmative. "Yes, ma'am."

He was about to turn and go but she stopped him unexpectedly with a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you again, Lieutenant. This means a lot to us. To all of humanity. As I said, keep an open mind and..." She paused before exhaling heavily but holding his gaze. "I'm sorry to put you through this. There was no other way."

"I'll be fine."

Without another word he turned and walked up the ramp of the pelican and sat down in the pilot's seat. He started firing up the engines. Halsey had walked over to the exit but stopped at a control panel. She pressed a series of buttons and Six looked up to see the ceiling begin to open. With a final wave, he nodded again to her. She turned and the door closed behind her.

Six latched his harness closed as the engines spooled up to maximum power. He hit the stabilizers, closed the back hatch, thruster control, and slowly lifted off the hangar deck. He flipped the control for the landing gear and steadied the craft.

"You're on your own, Noble," Carter's words flew through his mind once more.

"Not for long, sir," Six said out loud.

His helmet flashed with a new waypoint directly above him. He held the stick steady and rotated thruster control until they pointed straight down then slammed the thruster control as far forward as it would go. The Pelican lurched as all four hybrid fusion drives slammed the ship upward at an incredible pace. The Pelican rattled and shook violently. He had pushed the engines to full burn which wasn't something you typically did. Especially without warming them up. Desperate times.

When the altimeter showed 2,000 feet he pulled back half way on the throttle, yanked the stick back until the pelican stood completely vertical and once again pushed the throttle forward to it's maximum. He rocketed straight up, his destination appearing as a speck on his helmet and the screen in front of him. Within a few minutes the speck became a shape as he pushed to the edges of the atmosphere. The amorphous shape grew into a recognizable one within another minute. But it also began to move.

He flipped a switch in the cockpit as the reticle in his helmet lined up with the M370 chingun mounted on the front as it spooled up ready to deliver high-explosive, depleted uranium rounds wherever his head turned. His LIDAR came up in his field of view and red dots began to appear in front of him. A warning alarm rang and lights flashed on his controls. Enemy fighters. A separate siren went off alerting that enemy weapons were warming up. He queued up every countermeasure he had, armed the eight misses he had and sat back.

'Now or never,' he thought.

Doctor Halsey sat at her desk and felt ten years older. Her whole life had been spent sacrificing others for the greater good. She had learned the error of her thinking before the Spartan II program had even finished. She had so many regrets but everything had been necessary, or so she told herself. And necessity still required sacrifice. She knew more than most that strategic sacrifice was still better than chance. Had she sent another soldier to his death? Perhaps. But with ONI tightening the noose, she was out of options. Their games had taken new form when Cortana had revealed Section III's latest operation. They'd been communicating with what had at first seemed an impossibility; a completely different existence. If her few glimpses into the other side were any indication, she guessed THEY might be out of time too. She only hoped they could reconcile quickly. They'd all need each other for the coming wars.

A familiar orange figure appeared in front of her. "Doctor Halsey, I believe I understand what you're hoping to accomplish but I must inform you that the odds of success are very slim. All of your research was based on theory and utilized the Shaw-Fujikawa drive as the answer to infinite gravity within a singularity. Of course, running slip space is the only option to negate the physics of a black hole while traveling through but it's still only conjecture. However, our calculations were based off of a Prowler or Frigate. None of our models ever accounted for a covenant drive, technology, or their ship dimensions. Will your program account for the differences? Can a Spartan succeed, or should they, where perhaps a diplomat may be more effective?"

Halsey stared off into space for a moment. "First Kalmiya, never tell me the odds. Second, the only way we've ever made progress was by pushing limits and taking chances. Third..." She paused thinking of the Lieutenant and the others like him, few as they were now. "We created them to take the chances we couldn't. To push the limits we were never meant to break. He might not be one of mine but if any one of these second generation Spartans could pull off the impossible..." She trailed off briefly. "I hope he shares more than a rating with him. I hope he may just share his luck too. We all should hope as much."

There was a small pause. "Forgive me, Doctor. My calculations did not account for a variable such as luck. Would you like me to run scenarios?"

Halsey rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Kalmiya."

"Yes, Doctor."

Noble Six steeled himself. Plasma flew at him from several vectors. His Spartan Time slowed them to a crawl. He could predict incoming fire angles before they became threatening. He lined up the chain gun and pressed the trigger, watching as the rounds punched into space with all the fury Reach had left. He didn't bother counting the craft or even how many he hit. As soon as the indicators flashed alerting him to tangos on his six, he dropped flares, hit directional jammers, flooded the spectrum of space with rainbow laser blinders, and launched all 8 missiles after targeting the guns on the rapidly turning cruiser. Missiles were away before they could bring broadsides to bear.

His indicators lit up again. Incoming from the rear and front. He spun, wobbled, yawed, zigged, and zagged but he did not break trajectory. Port side hangar was his beeline. He started getting peppered with plasma rounds from behind. He lost power to an engine as the alert came on. Engine fire. No matter. Wouldn't last long in the vacuum.

His speed didn't decrease anyway. He was getting closer, pitching from side to side to avoid the heavier plasma rounds. But it was getting shaky the closer he got. He avoided one round and took the other almost directly to the front of the cockpit. The metal and glass warped under the glancing heat but held. He kept his hand on the thruster. He was seconds away from the shielded interior of his prize. Another round shook him and spun the Pelican off course. He corrected but not enough as the round launched his trajectory too low, he rotated the thrusters until they faced down to force him back up but not by enough.

He braced as he put the thrusters in full reverse and throttled up while pulling the stick back. His nose clipped the bottom lip of the opening in the cruiser. The nose stayed pointed down as the rest of his ship pitched up. He finally released the nose and the entire craft went up. He hit the ceiling hard, crunching metal and screeching alloys met with sparks and smoke and he ricocheted from ceiling to floor. He could feel wounds split back open between G forces and impact even with the gel layer of his armor compensating for the pressure. He hit the emergency engine stop and flipped the back hatch open before the pelican had even ground to a halt. The scrambled fighters we're no doubt heading back to the hangar already. He pulled up two plasma rifles and jumped from the back of his crash site just as it skidded to a halt. He locked onto a number of grunts, Jackals, and even an elite. They roared and screamed but the veteran Spartan wasn't going to lose this close the finish line. He sprinted full speed and unloaded both rifles at the elite, shattering his shield and shredding flesh until he dropped. He clipped a rifle to his back and pulled two grenades, one at a time, and threw them left and right, finding their targets perfectly, as he vaulted over the fallen elite and made for the bridge. The doors closed behind him as the explosions in the hangar sounded off.

He met two Jackals with shields up, he ducked incoming needles and unloaded the remainder of the clip on one plasma rifle, forcing them to cover behind their shields. He pulled an energy sword and activated it. He reached them too quickly for them to react. Six pierced the shield of one in an uppercut motion and followed through with his swing, skewering the body of the alien and then pinning it to the ceiling. He kicked out at the remaining Jackal directly in the shield, crushing the jackal against the wall with its own defense and holding the alien in place. He pulled the sword from the first as it dropped to the ground, and whipped the sword hard and fast down on the other one, separating exposed head from body.

He heard an angry roar and turned to see three elites between him and his destination. He turned slowly toward them and pulled out the second sword, the snap hiss of his weapon cutting through the silence. He charged before they could, the power from his lunge forward denting the floor, full speed as plasma rounds bounced off his already damaged shields. The two on the sides pumped round after round into him as his shields died and he clashed blade to blade with the Elite in the middle. He launched his left hand out and stabbed the elite on the left in his foot, earning a pained roar. He took a blow to the face from the one on the right from his plasma rifle, he heard a crack from his helmet. His HUD flashed in and out.

Desperate now he snatched the hand of the elite from the left as it brought its alien weapon up. Six re-aimed it just as the trigger was pulled. 4 rounds went off on the face of the alien in the middle who dropped. Six whipped his sword down hard on the right most enemy and nearly sheared him in two while simultaneously pulling his left sword out of the foot of the creature on his left and cutting him from groin to chin. They all dropped in a heap. He stomped the skull of the one in the middle when it twitched, crushing it. He took a second to let his shields recharge and cracked his neck.

The mission came first. And at full speed and intensity, it took him 10 minutes to reach his destination as he cut down anyone who wasn't smart enough or fast enough to run.

The bridge of the cruiser had alarms blaring, commotion was high, and aliens were scrambling, trying to get their fighters back. It was a ship built for support and reconnaissance. It wasn't built to hold armies or even repel boarders. The familiar, musical hum followed by the click of a moving door froze the aliens and they turned. The lone wolf slowly strolled through the door, plasma grenades in both hands. He took five steps in and stopped. Covered in blood, both his and theirs, he wondered how he must look to them. He heard the click and whine of loading plasma rifles, the low but insistent hum of overcharging plasma pistols, the crackle of activated energy swords, and the scratching sound of metal on glass as needle rounds were loaded in the now familiar symphony of everything humanity had come to fear. But it was his turn. The Spartan wasn't even breathing hard. His senses were razor sharp, heart steady, and mind focused. Here at the brink, at his probable end, he was the best he had ever been. He felt the growls, snarls, and chittering of his enemies punctuating the intensity of the situation as they all began to close in on him.

He was hunched over, faceplate split, shields crackling in and out of life, skin suit with flesh underneath punctured and resealed with biofoam to refill the holes, and armor plating warped and disfigured but holding. He held his hands out in front of him and showed the grenades. He didn't know which one would be first, and he didn't know if he'd make it much further beyond that. But by Mjolnir's explosive failsafe or his own firepower, they were all going with him one way or another.

His helmet speakers burped and crackled to life, the broken tech amplifying his words in a scratchy baritone.

"I'm ready," he said.

They closed in. Like a coiled spring, he felt them about to move with vicious intent.

"How 'bout you?"