#mxchineandnerve

Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.

‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.

It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.

His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.

What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.

He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…

Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.

Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.

“What did she do that was so wrong?”

Few things could make Spartan-117′s blood run as cold as it did now. To think that such a simple question could cow one of the human race’s greatest guardians would have seemed foolish to any outsider. Yet that same Spartan’s heart practically skipped a beat the moment Joyeuse’s question hit the thin membranes of his eardrums.

What did she do that was so wrong?

The question echoed through his thoughts.

Why was his new partner not informed of it? It would have made more sense to give the construct a motive, a reason to fight. Protecting his old friend had once been one of John’s, but no longer. John silently wondered what Cortana was going to think of him when she saw him with, well, whatever Joy was.

Joy.

He’d even given it a pet name.

They’ll pair you with a new A.I., maybe even a new Cortana model if Halsey lets them.

The Master Chief just knew in his gut that their reunion was going to sting. Maybe she’ll remember what she’d said in the panicked haze of rampancy when she got her first look at her replacement.

No, not a replacement; a new partner.

Would Joyeuse even want to work with him once she knew about the circumstances that birthed their partnership? Would she, like nearly every other smart A.I. in existence eventually turn on him too? Imparting this knowledge to her could be dangerous. She could end up sympathizing with her elder and less sane sister.

Joy, too, could end up feeling betrayed.

The Master Chief cleared his dry throat, a meager attempt to try to put his complicated emotions to words. Those words eluded him yet again. He’d better hurry up and blurt whatever he was going to say out. His silence was likely beginning to look suspicious.

“It’s....it’s not..Look, you don’t need to worry about that. You’re safe now.” The Spartan-II managed to force out.

---

The Slayer was on a roll.

Within a few seconds time, what was left of an assortment of Imps, Gargoyles, Prowlers and Hell Knights were already taken care of. The way this man used weapons-- And how fast he switched between them was just as mesmerizing as the rate at which demons dropped almost as quick as flies to a swatter.

And by the time this happened, he was going after the Baron as well.

Sthusa, the aforementioned Summoner was about ready to heckle the Master Chief. Killing him early would be a waste anyway, so maybe shooting Hell Energy waves, perhaps a bit too close to his general direction.

@mxchineandnerve

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Continued from here! @mxchineandnerve​

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Were John to attempt and regain focus, he would barely be able to see who appeared to be human for once, as contrasted to a bunch of beasts seeking to do whatever they wanted to him.

And wouldn’t he know it, this individual; A man, was armored, just like John was. Except the biceps; Those were always exposed. For what reason, who knows? And what’s more, it’s covered in a mess of blood and viscera.

What happened?

Said man-- Despite not being a SPARTAN unit, pointed a finger at a freshly dead fireborne Baron of Hell, alongside a number of other demons. And then at the armor the stranger this said man saved adorned before the demons tried to steal it from him, on the ground.

While he knew the stranger wouldn’t exactly get what he was trying to say, without so much as uttering a word, he, more than likely, meant this: That Baron and an entourage of demons attempted to abduct him and steal his armor as well. It was bad news if any other being gets caught by those demons alright, and the man John saw in question went and slaughtered them, the Baron having dropped him when it was attacked.

Looked like this man was more than just a mere man if he could make such a large abomination drop dead like that.

The Doom Slayer wasn’t much for speech, or at least he tried to keep it that way-- What he experienced certainly was beyond what any word could convey; For him, personally. But if anyone in question would request for him to communicate, he wouldn’t be so averse to it.

But for now, this was the only context the Slayer could give John at the moment. Damn demons trying to make one of his own kind suffer. The look on the Slayer’s face, though concealed by the visor of his helmet, was not one of rage, but rather, one of curiosity.

"Thank you, sir."

Hood met the steel-blue gaze leveled his way with a calm, blank one of his own.

Though, if one knew where to look, they’d see the barest hint of warmth in the Fleet Admiral’s gaze.

Hood had always cared about the sailors, soldiers, marines, and airmen under his command. Every single one. But, the Spartan-IIs held a special place in the ironclad heart of Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood.

Torn from their beds in the dead of night.

Bred into killing machines.

Not allowed to rest in piece.

Not cared for.

Hood’s hands flexed microscopically. Control is not optional. He thought. I will not let another Spirit Of Fire happen. Not on my watch.

“It was my pleasure, Master Chief.”

Thomas Lasky merely cocks his head and smiles, taking a step back to give the Chief space. He turns back to facing the vast expanse of space visible on the observation deck, rolling lazily by as the Infinity moved in haste.

“Did you learn something, Squad Leader?”

Mendez asked the young trainee, looking down his nose at John. Standing at parade rest, Franklin looked out across the field of injured Drill Instructors.