&. SOMEWHAT DAMAGED ,

he doesn’t sound too convinced      ;      the less than implicit question surrounding that one word leaving an odd sensation crowding upon the freelancer’s chest. both of their guns are kept down, and yet that doesn’t make him feel any more  SAFE     ———     so he remains alert. well, perhaps that’s not quite the word      …     on edge seems much more fitting      (  adrenaline already pumping through every vein, fight-or-flight reflex ready to be put to action. there’s a tingling sensation upon fingertips, compelling gloved hands to turn into fists once, twice, then letting go      …    &  the cycle repeats  ).      nineteen percent change of survival.  it really would have been awesome if delta kept that bit to himself, for fuck’s sake      ————                                     ❛  eh       …      i mean, not quite.  ❜ the truth behind this encounter just happens to be much more embarrassing than that      ;      but hey, this is a big place. like, really big. people must get lost around all the time, right ?     …     right ?        ❛  wasn’t supposed to run into anyone in my way out, actually.  ❜        which is hopefully just enough information for it to be believable yet not too much, to the point where it could compromise the entire operation taking place. all york needs from now on is a little luck. to somehow gain the stranger’s trust, even if just enough so he won’t push one of many knives through his skull      (  jesus, way to go, brain  ).    or be fast enough to run from the murderous intent, should this go south soon enough        ———      thankfully, when unable to rely on skill, luck has always been on his side.                                ❛  are we good, then ?  ❜

      austere    &&    spine steeled, an ominous bearing hushed by superfluous, lethargic movements of arms as the shotgun was fastened contra his right side. there was no DESPERATION to lengthen time depleted of enmity, yet vigilance was the spartan’s epithet. fingers trembled from the absence of a trigger    ( naught else t a r n i s h e d hands with sanguine fluid -- excluding instruments of war ),    perchance presenting said stranger with a split-second moment to glean whatever intel from him. ( who are you ? WHAT ARE YOU ? where are you ? why are you here ? WHAT HAVE YOU BECOME ? )    noble six was a conundrum. he cannot recollect the last time he examined himself in a mirror.

                        OH, WHAT BIG TEETH YOU HAVE !

                                   ❛ good is dependent on the path of our discussion. ❜

me: kill them

                                             ★ | hyperlethal  

          “ I’m NOT your friend, this relationship is STRICTLY business “

 How EASY it was to sever ties with those who were simply an ASSET to a mission, a mere COG within it’s intricate mechanics. The Council WANTED to see this mission complete, the dispute SETTLED between two parties, so that peace may resume within the CONSTANTLY warring galaxy and he wasn’t going to let this ACQUAINTANCE spoil his plans for success.  He crosses his arms over his chest as if he were a  stoic statue looking over an ancient temple

      “ I don’t TAKE orders from you either, my duties come from the Council “

                                                       ❛    likewise.    ❜

      fingers strum transversely on polished, stygian-plated armor; mien shrouded by a helmet including azure-tinted visor. the JEDI COUNCIL were haunted by dogmatic   &&   conservative ideologies, many of which interfere with his own. noble six prescribed not to an assembly of any sort    --    a fixed point betwixt light   &&   dark. as much as the SPARTAN yearned to accuse the man of his unjustifiable approach in their commune, it was not in his station to do so. after all, they were parallels on a singular element: their stubbornness. arms crossed o’er chest, noble six’s lips pursed   &&   tranquil expression replaced with benign exasperation. timbre, distorted by the helmet   &&   wretchedly coarse for his age, filtered to life subsequent a pregnant pause.

ᴍᴇᴍᴇ : ᴛᴡᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴅ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs.

                           » ‹ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs sᴀʀᴄᴀsᴍ, ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ. ›

                 oh, perfect.  one of the GIANTS. feet stop in their track as soon as movement is perceived, allowing shadows to gobble up gold  &  white armor partially       ;       fingers wrap around the familiar weight of a battle rifle, perhaps a little bit too tightly, out of simple expectation      (   delta’s calculations running non-stop at the back of his head barely helping out     —    the man is fairly certain that if this turns into a battle he’s got a better chance just running than trying to jump into it face first. the percentage of possibilities to win aren’t needed      …     & he’d very much like to avoid the number regarding surviving. but, of course, the a.i. just has to be an asshole about it. 19%. with a little luck. yikes  ).               ❛  alright, buddy, CALM DOWN. we’re all friends here.  ❜ words leave a distinctive taste of irony behind as they flow from thin lips, meeting slight distortion through the helmet channel.  this guy sounds as he looks, huge, dangerous. playing it cool might be the best course of action    (  somehow, delta even agrees with that one  ).       ❛  just put the gun down, i don’t wanna start anything     …     honestly.  ❜        as some sort of trust building exercise, york will even attempt to put his own weapon away, stepping forward once, twice       —     yeah, that’s close enough, thanks.

      in the outermost, unoccupied provinces of his psyche, the noun    ‘ (   f r i e n d   ) ‘    would retain saccharine eminence. that were not the case    &&    for months, he grew to REPUDIATE the word. grip tightened    &&    finger wormed alarmingly close to the trigger. a capricious concept,    &&    many tarnished its’ terminology,  characterizing it in the same division as renegade. bewilderment chiseled itself into his countenance whilst the stranger made a leap of faith.    (  two steps, relinquishing personal space to the spartan-iii.  ) gracious – excruciating so, that. a pregnant pause sprinkled itself betwixt the two, before noble six slowly directed his gun’s muzzle downwards.

                                       ❛    -- friend?    ❜

      bemusement drowned out lingering apprehension    &&    animosity, his vocalization    (   similar to his acquaintance   )    distorted by the helmet’s interface. it will obligate much more than storing one’s firearm away – OH, the traps he situated for individuals daring to disclose their vulnerabilities. nonetheless, noble six had no compulsion to appropriate a shotgun into combat.    (   the knives clasped into place – in plain sight on chest, arms && legs – were satisfactory to carry out a mission if bullets cannot be unearthed.   )    ❛    were you pursuing me from the SHADOWS, weighing what kind of peril i may wrought?    ❜    the spartan-iii, other than john-117, was the only spartan to be entrusted with the appellation of HYPER-LETHAL VECTOR. if it comes down to a scuffle, he was sure to crawl T R I U M P H A N T through the fallout.

        fingers splayed atop a planate, coarse mountain side with a fissure that impassionately cleaved through the terra that observed many a campaign of humanity && covenant. it was here that the UNSC surfaced triumphant, but at what exorbitant cost? he closed metallic green orbs && reminiscence of lives robbed: SPARTANS, mundane UNSC soldiers, ODSTs .. desensitized by oblivion, a comrade renouncing their life in combat seldom made him flinch. && all of noble team did precisely that.

                                          ( && noble six pursed his lips. )

        yet momentary tranquility was limited, ESPECIALLY for a spartan. an anonymous pair of foot steps a short distance in the background &&, indisposed for anything to expose him in this stupor, spun around with disturbing speed. an M90 CLOSE ASSAULT SHOTGUN whose barrel remained position toward them, && noble six was conceiving over a dozen take-outs, withdrawal routes, && feedback from the stranger.