[b]Haunted Part I: Sigma Station[/b] [b]1345 hours (Greenwich Mean Time), May 3rd, 2525 (MILITARY CALENDAR): 25,000 kilometers outside of Epsilon Eridani B's gravity well[/b] No further action is necessary, Corporal. Corporal Mendoza turned to the pilot console, his face a mask of distain. "Well, isn't that perfect. Thank you for that Athena." He practically spat the words. The small transport drifted through the black of space, silent as a wraith. From within, the crew watched mutely the billion points of starlight outside the cramped observation blister. They shone cold, distant, implacable. Inside, the darkness was broken only by the intermittent pulse of the emergency lighting, bathing the cramped interior a lurid red. Below the craft lay the massive gas giant, Epsilon Eridani B. Their destination. We have run critically low on Delta V, corporal. My calculations show that there are no available actions for us to take, as of present, Droned the synthesized voice of the ship's AI. "Delta V"? Miller intoned from the back. Delta V, Private Miller, is the Change... "Change of velocity" snapped the co pilot, a small waif of a girl barely out of her teens. Everybody was pushed to the razor's edge. Beyond the edge, really. They were alone. Drifting in the black, far beyond the aid of command, with only their worries and the fleeting starlight to keep them company. That was the point, after all. Miller persisted, somewhat sheepishly. "Maam, I still don't get it. Change of velocity? How can we...?" he trailed off, sensing the futility of his inquisition. "Fuel, Miller. It means fuel. And we have none of it left. " Mendoza turned once again to the ship's AI. She now displayed herself as a slight, silver figure, sitting cross legged atop the nav console. "Define Critically low." Athena hesitated a fraction of a second before replying. To a mind as limitless as a UNSC AI, the hesitation was an eternity. I have run through all of the algorithms in my database. In conclusion, I... "Alright! Can we turn the transport around?" Snapped Mendoza, peevishly. To put it simply, Corporal, no. We cannot turn the craft around. All that would accomplish would be a drastic change in our present course. Either the craft would be pulled into the gravity well of the body below us, or it would simply be pushed further away from our destination. "And I assume we can't stop..." Mendoza huffed audibly. "This transport runs on fusion, doesn't it? How the hell can we be out of Del... Gas?!" There seems to ba a malfunction somewhere... "Of course there is a malfunction, you worthless pile of chips! The question was rhetorical." Seething, Mendoza approached the console. "Sturgis. Open the maintenance hatch, and grab the drill." He stared out of the small view port in front of the nav console, studying the billions of stars staring back at him. So many of them... he searched for a small point of light different from the rest. "Still too far", he muttered to nobody in particular. "Sir? Got a plan?" "Of course I don't have a plan. I have an idea." A grim smile crept over his face as he assessed the AI, now laying atop a glaring red console light. "How do you suppose we pry her out of this wreck?" [Edited on 10.30.2011 10:16 PM PDT]

Fifteen minutes later, seven pressure suited figures stood silhouetted against the open cargo bay door, nothing separating them from oblivion except an invisible, and ever present storm of hard radiation. Each man and woman donned a bulky EVA thruster pack strapped ungainfuly to their backs. Though they added no additional weight in vaccuum, the laws of inertia still held true. Every movement, every step sent the ungainly hulks lumbering into one another under the unfamiliar mass of the thrusters. less than ten minutes until we pass your desired point of extraction, corporal. Though I still do not agree with your plan. A peevish expression crossed the AI's features. Or with your barbaric method of extracting me from the navigation console. Mendoza grinned at the memory. "Duely noted, Athena." "Look, there!" Shouted Cruz. Aft, in the extreme distance, a small pinpoint of light stood out from the stars surrounding it. And it was approaching. Fast. "Athena. Did you slow us down?" I have managed to slow our approach forty three per cent, and have changed our course three hundreths of a degree to port, so as not to impact the station. "Forty three per cent. And just how slow is that?" He asked, his voice dripping sarcasm. Aproximately six hundred fifty three kilometers per hour. " Perfect." He turned to the five suited figures beside him. "We're gonna need to be damned accurate," he said to himself as much as any of the others. "Alright. We are moving damned fast and we need to hit a target well over a thousand kliks away.These cans are made for exterior repairs. They are not made for any of the things we are about to use them for now. The packs are fully juiced, but it's going to burn up fast trying to slow us down. "We have enough to slow down, don't we?" he asked the AI. My calculations show that it is possible to slow to a complete halt. Plus or minus, accounting for interferences, she added as an afterthought. Mendoza grinned ruefully. "Plus or minus what"? My calculatoins show a variance of plus or minus eighty six kilometers per hour. "Perfect" He muttered again. "We hit that station at eighty six kliks, we might as well be going six hundred... How long?" Six minutes forty five seconds until desired extraction. "Alright ladies and gentlemen, when the lady counts to zero, you jump. No exceptions. You jump late, you miss the rendezvous. You jump early, guess what? You miss the rendezvous. It's a cold universe out there, and if you intend not to be aquainted with it, you jump." Not a word was said. Terror hung over each of them like a dark cloud. At last, Mendoza broke the silence. "Sturgis, you have the comms unit?" "Yessir", replied the lanky private. "All wrapped up pretty." Mendoza surveyed the Comms unit that Sturgis held aloft. It was neither wrapped up, nor was it in the least bit pretty. It was a tangled wreck of wires, circuit boards and broken casing, it's power supply feebly winking amber. "Looks like it chewed it's way straight out of hell, Sturg. Why the hell do we need it anyway? Station's gotta have a comms unit better than that pile. It is supposed to be a communications outpost." "Sir, station's gotta have planty of 'em better than this." He said, patting the unit affectionately. "Problem's we gotta reach command, and they're secured. Code's built into this unit, not the station's. Only way we're getting through to them is with our girl here." "Good enough, Sturg." Mendoza shook his head slowly. "And would you please refrain from personifying that pile of bolts?" Sturgis grinned. "Yessir." Extraction in five minutes, corporal.

And please allow me to apologize for my atrocious spelling... My word processor has no spell check (yes, I didn't realize that was possible anymore either), and I tend to write quickly. Rest assured, the final copy will contain no such blunders.

[b](GMT minus twenty hours) May 2nd, 2525 Aboard Sigma Station, in high orbit over the gas giant, Epsilon Eridani B[/b] Ethan heard the locking mechanism of his visor click home just as the bolt of plasma slammed into the bulkhead behind him, cutting a wide, glowering swath through the steel. His heart thundered as he heard the hiss of molten alloy spitting against the cold grating underfoot. The air reeked of ozone. Warning alarms blared in his ears, his shield displays flashing wildly. Semi Powered Infiltration Armor, he thought ruefully to himself. Well, they sure as hell got the semi powered part of it right. The bolt hadn't even grazed him and his shields were null. He peeked his head just far enough to survey his surroundings. Nothing. Returning to the relative cover of the small shipping crate, he lay perfectly still, hoping against hope that his shields would recharge. Soon. Things could have been worse, he reflected. Twenty minutes ago, the halls of this place were crawling with Covenant. Jackals and grunts at first, but then came the heavy hitters. Most notably the brutes. He could smell them before he actually saw them. They had a savage smell about them, their breath fetid and rank. Some never questioned providence. Ethan always questioned providence. Which, incidentally, was why his mind had been buzzing non stop for the last five minutes. From a small breach in a maintenance panel, he watched as the indomitable waves of Covenant scoured the deserted halls, for what? Life, more than likely. Something to find, to kill. Something to extinguish. And then, nothing. One minute they were there, and the next, they had gone. He watched silently as at first grunts and jackals, then the brutes bagan to walk and then run to their boarding craft, crashing into one another like so many dominos. He couldn't be positive how many of them were left behind, but he felt sure that there were but a fraction of whole remaining. At least something had worked in his favor. Harvest happened less than a month ago, but Ethan knew more than he cared to about the Covenant. In less than a month's time, this blight had spread like a cancer throughout the many human colonies. In less than a month's time, humanity had become their prey. This was not a war, it never was. This was a struggle. A biting, clawing, scrapping campaign of a terror more immense than any man alive had yet to feel. It was never a question of who would win, but of when we would lose. For the first time in our history, humanity didn't stand a chance. Every encounter bore deplorable figures. one hundred to one, one thousand to one. Ten thousand to one. Ethan tried to envision such numbers. Ten thousand human soldiers dead for every one of them. Whether it was the horror of the numbers, or simply the enormity of the numbers themselves, he couldn't be sure, but he found that he simply could'nt fit a mental image to the cold facts. It was probably for the better. Definitely for the better, he decided. It was supposed to be a simple mission, the brass had told him. Make contact with Station Sigma, give a quick SITREP. Leave. Avoid any unnecessary contact, they had said. A simple mission. Why was it always the simple missions that seemed to land Spartans MIA, or worse? He knew the answer, even before his mind had formed the question. For a Spartan, there were no simple missions. If it were a simple mission, they wouldn't need a Spartan. Aside from being a not-so-simple mission, it was, in Ethan's mind, a ridiculous one. Four days prior, Sigma Station, a small communications outpost in an eliptical orbit around the gas giant Epsilon Eridani B, started broadcasting strange things. At first it was nothing out of the ordinary. Static, ghosting. The usual interference. At first, brass attributed it to ionospheric storms above the gas giant. UNSC brass had hailed the station numerous times, to no avail. Sigma Station had a constant skeleton crew of fifteen men at any given time, though the outpost could hold well over a hundred. Static or no, Somebody should have answered their calls. And then came the other transmitions. It was a comunications technition aboard a passing UNSC cruiser that had discovered the first of these messages, buried deeply in the static. "This place is a tomb." "Death has been sowed. We are her blossoms." Voice print analysis verified that the voice belonged to Dr. Stanley young, director of operations aboard Sigma Station. But the speech was stilted, broken, as if pieces of pre recorded material had been pasted together to form a horrifying collage. This was also verified. Before long, the word haunted was being thrown around. And then, nothing. As if an invisisble switch had been flipped, the voices, the static, even the steady hum of Sigma Station's life support read outs were null. Sigma Station was officially deserted. A derelect. And then began the screams. His musings were broken by the most satisfying sound he had ever heard. A faint, electric hum filled the interior of his armor, coupled with a crackling, static charge. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His shields were back at last. And then another sound. A sound that filled him with a new terror. A sound more alien, more ghastly than any he had ever heard facing the Covenant. A deathly howl rent the silence of the cargo bay. It was a tormented wail. Too hideous even for a Brute. Yet at the same time, it did bear some similarity to a Brute. It was a banshee wail; it sounded like death Himself. Ethan held his assault rifle with a white knuckled grip. With a deep, shuddering breath, he moved to face his enemy.

1411 Hours (GMT) May 3rd, 2525 5473 kilometers outside of Epsilon Eridani B's gravity well Mendoza gripped the side of Cruz's helmet. "I want a [i]small[/i] charge, you got that?", he said for the fifth time. Cruz smiled innocuously at the Corporal. "Of course, sir. Why do you have to say it like that?" Despite himself, Mendoza grinned. Try as he might, he loved the unlikely group he commanded. "Because, recruit, I have seen you in action, if you recall. I know your definition of a small charge. And, if you do recall, you nearly got half the platoon killed. myself included", he added, grinning wider. Cruz waved his hand dismissively. "That? Aw, that was nothin' Corp." Cruz flashed a grin to match his CO's. "I got a flare for the dramatic, is all." He hesitated, frowning with thought. "Why do we need a charge at all? Didn't ship say she changed our course?" Mendoza shook his head. "[i]The ship[/i] didn't say anything. Athena claims that she did, but there's a saying, recruit. There are old soldiers, and there are bold soldiers. And they're rarely the same people." He patted the small case holding Athena. "Pretty as she is, I'd rather not hand all of our lives over to this heap of circuits. I intend to make it to Sigma station in one piece, and I for sure as hell don't want a Pelican-sized hole in her when we get there." Mendoza searched Cruz' visor, but his features were lost behind the polarization. "You alright, soldier?" he asked, all traces of humor now gone. Cruz shook his head slowly, his visor locked onto his shifting feet. "Hell no, sir." His eyes met Mendoza's. "I'll get it done." "Good man. You go EVA, and place the charge. No sense coming back aboard. If you [i]did[/i] keep the charge small, Hang on to something, and that should be enough. We'll be right behind you." "Sir." And with that Cruz turned and stepped into nothing. [i]Four minutes to extraction[/i]. All aboard were silent; lost in thoughts of the events to come. Some thought of Family, of life back home. Others of the present, the here and now. Mendoza thought of his crew. [i]Three minutes thirty...[/i] "Athena", Mendoza pleaded, his tone surprisingly soft. "Just let us know when we reach thirty seconds." At once warning alarms screamed. Amber lights flashed brightly as the cargo hatch slammed shut with an audible clang. Inside, the lighting was dangerously low. Emergency lighting, Mendoza remembered. "Athena! What the hell just happened?!" [i]The odds of successfully navigating to Sigma station are one in one hundred fifty billion, give or take...[/i] Mendoza held the small case containing the AI aloft, the visor of his helmet centimeters away from it's surface. The AI no longer displayed herself in any form. She was now a disembodied voice, and a feeble one at that. "What are you saying?" His voice was dangerously low. [i]Sir the odds... You never would have made it.[/i] She didn't need to go on. It was clear what the AI had done. "Open the hatch. [i]Now[/i]." [i]Sir... There is a recycle time of no less than ten minutes. It is hardwired into the system. Even I cannot override it.[/i] Mendoza was silent. [i]Sir, I did it for the crew... I did it for you. I am sorry, Corp...[/i] "Sturgis!", Mendoza bellowed, his eyes fixated on the small case in front of him. "Turn [i]this[/i] off."

[b]1912 Hours, May 2nd, 2525 (Nineteen hours, thirty four minutes prior) Aboard Sigma Station[/b] Ethan edged out from behind the steel crate, his pulse thundering in his ears. The howling had ceased, replaced with a silence that was somehow worse than the sound. The air surrounding him seemed clouded, distorted. Instinctively, Ethan raised the visor of his helmet. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. The air was filled with a yellow-brown haze, and the smell... It was sweet, musty. It was by no means putrid, but it screamed of decay, nevertheless. He slammed shut his visor, feeling bile burning in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. Without hesitation, he fired. The movement ceased. He searched the lifeless shape in front of him. It was a mess of flesh and steel and blood. It was the Brute. Slowly, he moved into the open, measureably more relaxed, but alert nevertheless. The feet became massive legs, sheathed in a plated armor. Wherever there were joints, wicked spikes jutted forth. The torso looked much the same, it's plating cast a slight blue in the steril lighting of the station. And the face... Ethan's breath caught as he noticed the massive head of the Brute. He felt sick, and more frightened than he had ever felt before. It was beyond the fear of death. It was an all encompasing horror, the thing of nightmares. Wherever the matted fur did not cover, the flesh of the Brute was a sickly, yellow palor. Ethan threw the visor open again, unable to hold back the bile any longer. There was something attached to the neck of the beast. Something beyond anything Ethan had ever witnessed. And it was moving. It writhed and undulated wildly. At it's base were dozens of spindly legs, glittering darkly in the flat overhead lighting. The brunt of it's mass was a throbbing, engorged sac, the same sickly pallor as the Brute's skin. As it fed, tiny yellow-brown spores floated out of it's back, polluting the air further. [b]There has been a containment breach in Bion Alpha[/b] Ethan snapped up, his assault rifle sweeping the perimiter of the cargo bay wildly. "Stand down!" he shouted, trying desperately to control his fear. [b]Level fifty four battle skins must be worn as per containment protocol. Sentient beings must evacuate Bion Alpha. If Infection spreads, sentient host is to be forefit as per containment... Spartan. Reclaimer number zero nine six UNSC AI serial number four oh one nine two... Ethan. There has been a containment breach. You must evacuate the cargo bay at once.[/b] The voice speaking to him sounded strange, alien. It was gravelly; pitched both low and high at once. Moreover, it had a distinctly [i]synthesized[/i] quality about it. He felt sure that it was an AI, yet at the same time... It didn't sound like any AI he had ever heard before. Ethan shuddered as he lowered his assault rifle. A realization had just struck home. The voice was coming from [i]inside[/i] his armor.

[b]1416 Hours (GMT) May 3rd, 2525 5,205 kilometers outside of Epsilon Eridani B's gravity well[/b] "Sir! What the hell happened?!" Bellowed Cruz. Through the ship's intercom, Cruz's voice came through thin, staticy. Briefly, mendoza informed him of the situation. "Not sure when we'll be able to open the hatch, either. Athena was a little [i]fuzzy[/i] on that point," he added, glowering at the small case that housed the AI. "So, for a while, I want you to go on radio silence. Conserve your power supply as much as you can." Mendoza paused, watching Cruz's vitals scroll across the minature display. "You alright?" "Hell no, sir", repeated Cruz sullenly. "Nothing to worry about, soldier," assured Mendoza. "That power supply's probably got more juice than this whole damned boat." Nothing to worry about, he repeated to himself, after he had clicked to comms unit off. He wished he believed it himself. Slowly, he turned to his crew. Mendoza checked the ship's display. [i]There goes our extraction.[]/i "That's it then." It was the first time any of Mendoza's troops had ever seen him beaten. "Sir," came a voice from the piolt's seat. "We may not be humped just yet." The pilot was a thickly set man with a week's worth of stubble lining his chin. He was a man of few words, but when he [i]did[/i] speak, he usually had something to say. Mendoza smiled thinly, unwilling to let himself feel anything close to hope. "Let's hear it, Dooley." "It's a long shot, sir, but at this point... Well, may be worth a try, at any rate." Mendoza gestured for him to continue, so he went on, "We've been missing something that has been right under our noses this whole time", he said, indicating the Pelican's viewport. Mendoza, and a few of the others clustered around the pilot's chair. Outside of the port, the massive curve of Epsilon B stretched glaringly below them. Stars, Sigma Station, everything else was eclipsed in it's brilliance. "Can't see much of anything beyond that glare, sir," observed Miller. "Ditto," replied Mendoza. He looked at the co pilot questioningly. She was laughing hysterically. "Crazy S.O.B." She said, facing the pilot. "Anybody mind telling me what the hell is going on?" snapped Mendoza peevishly. "Well, sir..." Mendoza noticed that his normally stoic features were beginning to show traces of a smile. This plan must be damned crazy, he thought to himself. "It's a big world down there. Why not use it to slow us down?" Mendoza was right. "You mean fly into, what, atmo?" "Not into atmo, sir" answered the pilot, grinning at Mendoza's use of pilot jargon. "Just graze the gravity well a little. We can coast in and out of it, use it to slow us down." He hesitated a fraction of a second. "Maybe skim her atmo a little." He smiled weakly. "No different than skiing." Mendoza shook his head. "Sounds a hell of a lot different than skiing, if you ask me... You think we have a shot?" The pilot simply shrugged. "You think we have a [i]choice[/i]?" Thirty minutes later they were barrling toward the gibbous, cloud-streaked world below them. "Sturgis, how's she coming?" "Just. About..." Sturgis tinkered with the small case a little more. "Got her!" "Give her here, Sturg." He looked the case over, a scowl darkening his features. "Alright, show that pretty face of yours." After a couple of heartbeats, an elfin, silver figure emerged from the case. Athena. She looked morose, to say the least. If Mendoza took any notice of this fact, he gave no sign of it. "Listen. You got us into a whole heap of trouble back there. But our pilot here came up with a plan. A plan that [i]you[/i] missed," he added triumphantly. He proceeded to brief the AI on Dooley's plan. [i]It could work, the AI concluded. Possibly. Too low, and you'll never get back out of the gravity well. Too high...[/i] "We'll miss our mark. We know." He patted the small case. "That," he said, indicating the AI with an outstretched finger, "is why we need [i]you[/i]." [i]It is a solid plan, Corporal[/i], the AI replied simply. "It is. You try [i]anything[/i], I'll send you starside quicker than you can count to ten." He looked at Athena, his eyes glittering madly. "[i]You got that[/i]?" The AI simply nodded, her eyes downcast. As Mendoza turned to the cockpit, he could have sworn he heard the AI sob. "Entering atmo in five, sir!" shouted the pilot. Mendoza looked doubtfully through the view port. And saw nothing. The view was a yellow-orange mess. Atmo. "Five minutes?" he shouted. As the words left his lips, he was thrown violently into the port bulkhead. He scrambled for a seat, nursing his shoulder. "Sorry 'bout that, Corporal. Didn't know you weren't strapped in", replied the co pilot brightly. Mendoza cursed. "The two of you are lucky that I [i]am[/i]". The next three minutes seemed to have taken an eternity. All aboard held onto whatever they could with a white knuckled intensity as they plummeted through the worst turbulance any aboard had ever experienced. Dooley included. On top of that, they were now well within the gravity well, a crushing two and a half Gs, at the top of the cloud deck. Earthside, it would have been a lot to endure. After thirty six hours in micro gravity, it was devastating. The view port turned from a pale yellow-orange to an angry red. Beyond the glowering haze, clouds whipped past with impossible speed. The interior of the Pelican became palpably hotter. Steel groaned as the heat of their descent took hold. I suggest you pull up, urged Athena tightly. "Too soon", muttered Dooley to himself as much as the AI. There was a resounding pop from somewhere just below their feet. They could hear the hull twisting, creaking in it's dying throes. With a pained effort, Mendoza turned his head away from the view port. [i]Pull up![/i] shouted Athena. The groaning of steel was lost behind the deafining howl of the engines, stressed beyond design capacity ten-fold. They could feel the iron grip of Epsilon B's merciless hand crushing them all. "Pull. [i]Up[/i]!" ordered Mendoza. "...Sir." Croaked Dooley weakly. At once the craft lurched upward, crushing Mendoza and the squad further into their seats. It was agonizing. With every creak of the hull, they could feel it in their bones. Lungs squeezed shut under the weight. Breathing became a cruel joke. The hull began to vibrate wildly. Even Dooley knew that it could break up at any minute. Any second now... And then it all vanished. In an instant they were weightless again, the gaudy orange cloud deck replaced with the blackness of infinity once again. "Everybody alright?" Mendoza asked. There was a stench of urine in the cramped cargo bay. Mendoza surveyed his soldiers. Shaky nods of ascent answered his question. Nobody, save Mendoza himself trusted their voice to speak. "Alright. Dooley, good flying. How much did we lose?" Dooley pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Gauges read just over five hundred kliks, sir." He grinned massively. "We lost one hundred fifty kliks." Mendoza didn't feel quite as elated. [i]Four more trips into that soup[/i], he thought bitterly. "Alright. We let the bird cool down, and we do it again" Mendoza said. He tried to say the words encouragingly, but the scowl on his face belied his words. "Hang on a sec, sir", interrupted Dooley. "Got something heading this way. Looks like a beacon. Or maybe..." His eyes widened briefly. "It's a data capsule, sir. And it's got ONI written all over it." Just then, a tiny starburst erupted from the distant point of light that was Sigma Station. "Sir," croaked Miller. "Was that the [i]station[/i]? Did it just...?" Mendoza placed a hand on Miller's shoulder. "Sigma Station's a long way off, son. Odds are that wasn't it." A scowl darkened his features. "[i]But wouldn't it be just our luck if it was...[/i]"

[b]GMT minus seventeen hours, ten minutes) May 2nd, 2525 Aboard Sigma Station's tier-three cargo bay[/b] It was pitch black. The narrow beam of Ethan's flashlight cut through the darkness with a frenzy only fear can bring. [i]Fear[/i]. It was not something he was accustomed to feeling. He was a spartan. Born and bred to face insurmountable odds. Quite simply put, he was the best. [i]Better than the best[/i]. And here he sat, cowering in the dark like a frightened child. [i]No[/i], he thought. He was not acustomed to feeling fear. Yet in the last three hours it seemed he had felt it's cold touch more than he had in all his life experiences combined. Ten minutes ago, the lights had just up and quit. No backups, no emergency. He closed his eyes, listening for the feint hum of the air recyclers, by now just a white noise in the background of his mind. Nothing. He heard a scrabbling in the far corner of the room. By the time he shone his light toward the sound, it was gone. And then again. [i]behind[/i] him. Visions of the tormented Brute flooded his mind. Visions of the [i]thing[/i] attached to it. His skin crawled. It felt as if he had insects crawling all over him. Instinctively, Ethan swiped at his neck, only to meet with the dull clang of his armor. "Where are you?!" he shouted aloud. Since the lights had failed, the strange voice had fallen completely silent. He thought briefly of the claims he had heard of Sigma Station. The word haunted came to his mind. It had seemed ridiculous before, but now... With the cold and dark pressing down upon him, it seemed less so. He closed his eyes, listening for something, anything. There it was. He heard the insectile clicking just to his left. He lurched away from the sound, shining the light where he had stood. And his stomach dropped. There, not ten feet from where he stood, scuttled four of the spidery nightmares, their bodies undulating wildly. Ethan followed their path with his light, it's beam shaking wildly. Just ahead of the creatures lay a prone form. Even in the dark, Ethan could tell that it was human. Even in the dark, he could tell that it was dead. [b]Reclaimer. There have been containment breaches in Bions Alpha and Sigma. Containment protocols dictate that all organisms within a containment breach of multiple Bions wear Battle Skins of a level no less than sixty. All aboriginal species will be terminated as per containment protocol.[/b] There was a slight pause. [b]Ethan. You must leave the cargo bay at once. The infection is spreading faster than I can seal the station.[/b] Ethan watched in horror as the spidery creatures began to gorge themselves on the prone figure. "Where can I go?" He demanded, his eyes transfixed on the nightmare before them. [b]There is a maintainence hatch seven meters from your position, reclaimer. I will guide you to Station Control. She will explain your situation further. You must hurry, Reclaimer. More of the scourge are coming. Soon they will wash over everything, corrupting all who stand in their wake.[/b] "[i]Who the hell are[/i] they?" Ethan demanded. "Why did they kill everybody?" For the first time, the eerie voice seemed mildly surprised. [b]Kill?... They are the Flood, Reclaimer. And they are life.[/b]

[b]GMT minus seventeen hours) May 2nd, 2525 Aboard the Covenant cruser, The Implaccable Warden.[/b] "What do you mean, they ordered a retreat?!" Bellowed the Sangheili. He towered over the bird like frame of the Kig-Yar. His armor glittered a deep, irridescent blue; his eyes smouldered with fury. Unconciously, the Kig-Yar took a stumbling step backward. They stood in a massive, circular chamber, it's walls pulsing with a dim purple light. In the center of the chamber shone a voluminous holographic display. It was a massive sphere, rotating slowly clockwise, it's interior filled with an impossible number of stars. Billions of them. It was the cruiser's navigational yoke. Seven wide purple columns surrounded the display, their hulks gleaming with dozens of glyphs, pulsing stark white in a rhythm of their own. "What I mean to say, shipmaster," The Kig-Yar stammered, his speech a series of harsh clicks and screeches, "is that the Jiralhanae captain..." "[i]Jiralhanae![/i]", the Shipmaster growled. He cringed, as if merely saying the word were an affront to his integrity. "Cowards. They are little better than beasts." The Kig-yar simply stood, eyes downcast. All eyes in the bridge of The Implaccable Warden were fixated on the various consoles before them. Every soul aboard the cruiser both respected the Shipmaster and feared his wrath immensly. "Then they shall be accounted for, and dealt with as cowards deserve." His voice was calm, controlled now. The Kig-Yar prefered the shouting. Finally, he spoke, his voice little more than a croak. "What of me then, Shipmaster?" The Sangheili narrowed his eyes, his mandibles parting to show a maw full of monstrous teeth. [i]Shipmaster's way of grinning[/i], The Kig-Yar noted to himself. And it was a wolfish grin. "What is your name, Kig-Yar?" "Chur'r-D..." The Kig-Yar began, but then quickly caught himself. In the presence of Sangheili, Formal names were forbidden to the lowly Kig-Yar. "Deg," he replied meekly. The shipmaster's grin widened. "Well, Deg. You and all of the other survivors shall be granted the highest of honors." The Shipmaster looked away from Deg, addressing the whole of the bridge. "We shall finish the task that the Jiralhanae have begun. There is a holy relic within sight of the human's installation. Something managed to scare away the apes," he said, sneering. We can expect resistance. Looking back to Deg, he continued, his voice dangerously low. "You will have the honor of fighting that [i]something[/i] from the front lines, beside myself." He eyed the cowering Kig-Yar, saw the fear etched in his face. "That is, unless you do not wish for this honor," he added innocuously. Deg studied the Shipmaster, saw the hardness in his eyes. They looked like a snake's. "I wish..." Deg began, his voice breaking. He simply nodded dumbly. "It is settled then." the Shipmaster continued. "We shall leave for the human's installation at once." His face darkened with rage. "Just after we have dealt with the deserters." [Edited on 10.29.2011 5:28 PM PDT]

Whaow. Thats a lot of words.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] The Anti Troller Whaow. Thats a lot of words.[/quote] Indeed they are. And there will be more to come soon. Each post represents one update... Today, I have been really ambitious. In the future, you can expect one to two updates per day, depending on their size/content. My name is Travis, and I have a problem... I always get too excited for people to read on, and have difficulty withholding updates. But I will try this time around.

[b]GMT minus sixteen hours) May 3rd, 2525 Aboard Sigma Station:[/b] Ethan crouched low, his muscles taut as a bowstring, behind the maintenance tunnel's access panel. Just minutes ago, the emergency lighting had returned, it's sepulchral glow bathing everything a monotonous red-orange. There was no telling how long the backups would last. The time to act had come. The small maintenance panel exploded outward as the armored figure crashed through it's bulk. By now, the halls were crawling with the monstrous creatures. Ethan almost wished the light's hadn't come back on. [i]Almost[/i]. Instantly they were upon him. No moment of surprise, no second guesses. The nightmare creatures moved with the purpose of speed. The purpose of [i]hunger[/i]. During his brief trip from the outter wheel's cargo bay to the second wheel, he had caught glimpses of them through the many ventilation grates lining the passage. Nothing could have prepared him for the horrors he now faced. Dozens of them faced him now, some tall, some short, some lanky, some nothing more than massive versions of the small, undulating sac-creatures he had shrunk away from minutes ago. He wretched. Despite the filtration systems in his armor, the smell of decay was overpowering. A thick haze of yellow-brown hung in the stagnant air surrounding him. A film of condensation began to grow on the outside of his visor. Fear gripped him once again, but even as he felt it's cold embrace, he unslung his AR-55 assault rifle from his back and opened fire. This set them into a frenzy of movement. The two nearest to Ethan leapt forward, gurgling cries deafeningly loud in the cramped confines of the tight passageway. A flash of his assault rifle and the first fell, a horrifying ooze of what passed for it's blood staining the walls and floor a sickly green-black. He looked in horror at the face of the monster. It was a lithe, slight creature, the skin of it's cheek splitting where a small writhing tendril penetrated through the weakened flesh. To it's torso clung one of the small, undulating sac-creatures, half of it's bulk buried beneath the creature's skin. His heart froze. Behind the writhing tendrils, behind the decay, it was a [i]Jackall[/i]. No longer were these simply monsters. This was a dissease, an [i]infection[/i]. And it took hold fast. All of this registered in a microsecond, but it was a microsecond too long. Ethan looked up just in time to see the second creature, well over twice the size of the first lunging toward him. He tried to level his sidearm, but it was useless. The creature was too close. With the force of a battering ram, the horrific creature slammed into Ethan. The two tumbled wildly onto the floor, a twined jumble of sickly flesh and battered steel. Ethan kicked at the creature, only to meet with the sickening feeling of his boot lodging into the creature's yielding flesh. And still it came. Ethan watched in horror as the massive form descended upon him, tearing madly at his armor. His shield's displays flashed crimson again, he felt the shell of his armor bending further with every impact. And then came the smaller forms. The small, sac-like creatures sprang onto Ethan, their long, spidery legs clawing madly at the seams of his armor. He could feel them scrabbling against his flesh, cutting his skin to ribbons. He screamed as he felt the flank of his armor give way, opening just enough to let one of the small nightmares enter fully. he felt it scrabble up his torso with a mortifying speed. With a last ditch effort he tore his helmet away, pawing madly at down the neck of his suit. He heard more scrabbling, and watched in horror as dozens, and then hundreds of the small creatures poured down the walls from the ventilation ducts overhead. He could hear the groans of the bigger forms as they lurched toward him, smell the rotting decay choking the air around him. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain as the sac-creature tore at his chest. And still hundreds more of the nightmares flooded toward him. It was the last thing Ethan saw.

A bit of a strange update today.I will be posting two segments of the story, because both are small. One is also strange as it serves as a transition, and is simply a description of Sigma Station. I love to personify, and greatly enjoy making places characters in and of themselves. Just a quirk, I suppose. Well enjoy!

14:59 (GMT) May 3rd, 2525 Epsilon Eridani B's gravity well "My god..." groaned Miller. The warning lights had given way to the velvet black of space. Mercifully, the recyclers still hummed, but it was only a matter of time before those quit as well. Then they would breathe their own air until... It didn't matter. The warning lights were always the first to go dark. It was design. Shut down all non-essential systems first; preserve the power left for the vital functions: Navigation, radios. [i]Air recyclers[/i]. Mendoza watched the readouts; the beating pulse of the transport; and wondered how long it would be until [i]they[/i] would fail. [i]But it didn't matter[/i]. None of it did, not now. The navigation console's tiny display still glowed with the final, haunting images of the data capsule's payload. Nobody spoke. All stared transfixed, their faces masks of horror, sadness. Of [i]pain[/i]. Mendoza had long since left the cockpit, a hollow coldness gripping his heart. "Shut it down." Nobody moved. The cockpit was as silent as a tomb. "I said," bellowed Mendoza, "shut it the hell down! We need the power." "Why?!" wailed Miller. "What the hell is the point? Isn't like we're going to go [i]there[/i] anymore, is it?" "Shut it, Miller," snapped Mendoza. "And we sure as hell aren't." "Then what [i]do[/i] we do?" asked the co pilot, all traces of cattiness gone from her voice. Mendoza sighed deeply. "We find Cruz. Bring him aboard. We're all scared as hell. The last thing in the world he needs is to die alone."

Sigma Station was a massive endeavor, as far as communications facilities were concerned. It was a series of concentric rings - three in all, with a central hub - and was bathed perpetually in the gaudy yellow pallor reflected from the cloud deck of the massive gas giant below them. This far away from Epsilon Eridani, the star's light was feeble at best, so rather than solar collectors, the station was outfitted with three massive tethers which spun with the outtermost wheel's rotation, collecting energy from the planet's dense ionosphere. And so they drove the wheels in turn. The wheels themselves [i]were[/i] the station. Living quarters, workstations, medical facilities; all were housed along the inside of the wheels. This was to affect a feeling of gravity for the crew. The outtermost wheel's spin was set to affect an Earth-normal gravity. This is where the crew's living quarters and medical facilities were housed. The second wheel was set to affect a gravity of one third that of Earth normal; roughly one Martian-gee. Here, the communications stations were housed. According to the station's schematics, this is where the station ended. Schematics showed [i]two[/i] concentric rings and a central hub, though clearly to any passerby, this was false. Given the rate of the station's spin, the third wheel should have amounted to roughly one sixth that of Earth-norm, or about equal to the pull of Earth's moon. As to it's purpose, nothing could be surmised. The first and second wheels were checkered with polarized window panes, bright gold when facing the gas giant, a dark, glittering onyx when facing star-side. The third wheel had no such panes. As for the central hub, much like most similar stations, it was reserved largely for launch bays and excess cargo storage, with the centermost point set aside for a small observation deck. Even at the station's centermost point, most newcomers quickly became nautious at the sight of the gaudy gas giant tumbling slowly around them. And so it spun as lights outside began to wink on. And so it spun as one by one, the many squares of darkened starside glass became illuminated once again. The power had finally returned. Sigma Station was alive again.

I kind of think nobody is reading this, but no matter... I shall forge ahead nevertheless! On time, three days in a row, here is the next installment of Haunted.

[b]GMT minus fifteen hours, twenty six minutes) May 2nd, 2525 Aboard Sigma Station, tier-one.[/b] [b]Reclaimer. Spartan number zero nine six, you must awake. My systems show that the frequency emitted has not caused any physical trauma to your systems. There has been a contamination breach in Bion Delta...[/b] Ethan awoke, his chest and head searing with pain. He felt a throbbing on the entire left half of his face as he tried to open his eyes. It seemed only the right half of his face would cooperate with his efforts. Whether his left eye was blind, or had simply swollen shut, Ethan couldn't tell. Nor did he care. With a feeble effort, he tried to sit upright. Instantly, stars flashed behind his eyes, and the room went dark. And again came the voice. [b]Ethan. You must awake. The Flood have taken Sigma station. I have managed to lock down access tunnels to corridors three and one, but my measures will not last forever.[/b] Ethan sat bolt straight, fatigue be damned. There was something eerie about the way this AI spoke. By now, he had no doubt that it was a UNSC AI. But it's speech was fragmented. Not contradictory, necessarily, just... something wasn't right. It kept speaking of Bions. Could the Bions be the three tiers of Sigma Station? Too many questions, and his head still felt as if it were being squeezed in a vice. And he was cold. Every ragged breath sent billows of steam towering toward the ceiling. He surveyed his surroundings. Compared to the tight corridors and storage bays of Sigma Station, this room seemed spartan. Barely ten feet across, it's walls were lined with terminals, their lights winking a myriad of colors. The same sterile lighting shone down from frosted panels set into the ceiling overhead. Ethan frowned. [i]Where the hell was he?[/i] The room looked like a mainframe locker; a cold place used to Store the hardware necessary to run Sigma Station. But he had been in the [i]second[/i] wheel. The lockers should be in the zero gee section of the station, the hub, and besides, this cramped room was far too small to house the sophisticated systems needed to run the station. His eyes swept the cramped room, and stopped mere inches away from where he sat. On the floor beside him, lay an arm. It was thin, wiry, and held firmly within it's grasp the hilt of something... [i]Covenant[/i]. It belonged to a Jackall, Ethan realized, and had been brutally severed by the door beside him. around it a gleaming purple irridescence pooled, already begining to crystalize in the fridgid air of the locker. Ethan's heart nearly froze as well as a voice snapped him out of his reverie. [b]It is a prison, Reclaimer.[/b] "Would you please," barked Ethan, "[i]stop doing that?[/i]" [b]My apologies.[/b] And with that, a small figure appeared over the holo-panel next to one of the large consoles. It was odd; nothing like any of the AIs Ethan had ever seen. Most AI's tended to fashion themselves after figures of great power or intillect. Earth's dominant historical figures. The form [i]looked[/i] human enough. It was lithe, bipedal, though it's body was sheathed in some sort of armor... The armor was different than any Spartan's Ethan had ever seen. It was sleek, it's patterns geometric, yet flowing. It seemed to match the behavior of this AI. Completely contradictory. It looked [i]alien[/i]. "What do you mean? I'm a [i]prisoner[/i]?" Ethan asked, still surveying the slight figure before him. [b]Again, I must apologize, Reclaimer. You are not to be held against your wishes. This is my prison.[/b] Ethan looked doubtful. "How did you get me here? How did you get those... [i]things[/i] off of me?" [b]It is a strange thing, Reclaimer. You have an affinity for asking a multitude of questions before the first is answered.[/b] The AI chuckled, sending a shiver down Ethan's spine. [b]I have my ways. As for the Flood. I have simply emitted a frequency my creators have known to repel the scourge. It is a temporary solution. Their hunger will win. Their hunger [i]always[/i] wins.[/b] Ethan shook his head disconsolately. "Who are your... [i]creators[/i]? Who was it that made you that could possibly know the things you are telling me?" [b]In due time, Reclaimer. You will notice your headgear, just beside you. I need you to put it on. There is a story you must hear. A story I have witheld from my creators for far too long.[/b] At once, the only blank wall in the chamber melted away into a blinding, liquid light. [i][b]This is my story.[/i][/b]

Wow. I actually don't have time to read all of this right now but just want you to know that I think this is awesome.

this is pretty damned good dude!

Thank you both, and civilwar, I don't blame you. What was intended to be a five page story really did get out of hand in the end :D I cannot seem to adhere to an outline for the life of me. In the end I just have to write until I feel I have said everything on my mind... For example, the original cut was set aboard Gamma Station (from Reach), and had no flood. So, literally everything has changed! Well, we have arrived... Part two! There are three total, the third being much shorter than the first or second. Really more like two and one third parts... Get ready, there is much knowledge to be dropped in part 2, to put it eloquently. [Edited on 11.02.2011 9:49 PM PDT]

[b]Part II: The Hive[/b] [b]GMT minus fifteen hours, ten minutes) May 2nd, 2525 Sigma Station's (RESTRICTED-TIER) mainframe locker[/b] The blinding light before Ethan's eyes resolved into a view screen. It was empty, save a set of alphanumerics that meant absolutely nothing to him. He donned his helmet, making sure that the recorder hadn't been damaged in the melee. All displays were in the green, for now. "What are you showing me?" Ethan asked, a worm of uneasiness in his mind. He no longer held any doubt. Something about this AI was seriously wrong. [b]It will be easier for you to see than for me to explain it to you, Reclaimer. There is a construct nearby that my creators call The Hive. I have compiled key segments of the documentation from their expedition there, months ago. I was on the expedition.[/b] The alphanumerics wavered momentarily, then were replaced with a vast starscape. Small lettering in the bottom-left corner of the screen indicated that it was a camera mounted on the nose of their transport, a UNSC Albatross. The gaudy sphere of Epsilon Eridani B was nowhere to be seen, so logic told Ethan the expedition was headed away from the planet. Suddenly, the stars began to wheel sickeningly as the craft rolled to port. And then the focus shifted. The view switched from the exterior camera to an interior. It shook wildly as the craft continued it's sweeping arc. Curses were muttered inside the cramped confines of the transport. The camera panned around the bay revealing six seated figures. Four wore the standard olive drabs of the UNSC, while the other two looked to be civilian. Glittering a dark purple was the slight, metallic looking figure of an AI, perched precariously on the edge of the navigational console. "Smile for the camera," came a voice from behind the recorder. A few feeble grins answered as the camera panned over the crew once again. Ethan didn't have to be in the Albatross to sense the crackling tension in the air. He watched the faces of the crew, noticing an extreme difference in attitude. All those donning the olive drabs seemed tense, alert. [i]Scared[/i]. The others, the civilians, clearly shared the marine's apprehension, but their fear seemed to be underscored by something else. A great expectancy. And in their hopeful faces Ethan saw immediately who they were. Scientists. Seekers of knowledge. The view switched back to the fore camera, it's lense zooming quickly in. Coupled with the wheeling stars, it was enough to make the viewer giddy. And there it was, towering in the distance. At first merely a patch of blotted starlight, the image resolved further to show an outline of something huge. It looked nothing like Sigma Station. It rose to impossible heights; all pinnacles and a strange, alien geometry. As the Albatross approached, a brutality of ghostly blue glass panes appeared, each sharp, asymetrical, yet together a harmony of their own. Several massive columns rose, spinning slowly around a central chamber; all connected by ponderous shafts of hard blue light. The Hive. The screen went dark, and Ethan turned to the AI. "Who... [i]built[/i] it?" [b]There is little purpose in asking such questions, Reclaimer.[/b] "Why?" Ethan asked dumbly, his gaze still transfixed on the empty viewscreen. "Let me guess... You can't tell me?" There was a pause. [b]Because you wouldn't believe me if I [i]did[/i].[/b] With another blinding flash, the video commenced. The view returned with startling clarity. The camera shook wildly as it focused on the alien construct, now immesurably closer than the images preceeding it. Bulky figures bobbed in and out of frame, blocking the camera's perspective intermittantly. It seemed the entire crew was EVA, heading for the construct before them. Slowly they advanced, their thrusters casting tiny starbursts of light in the camera's lense. "Where's our LZ?" Came a husky voice, clearly one of the Marines. "There is an entrance at the topmost point of the central column. Janssen thinks we can get through, based on the long-range imagry." "I brought the charges, just in case the door needs a little extra persuasion," said the husky voice again. Somebody shuddered at husky-voice's statement. No doubt, it was one of the scientists. The screen went dark again. A new set of alphanumerics flashed in the lower corner of the display, indicating that roughly thirty minutes had passed since the prior frame. Once again the stars wheeled overhead, the camera shaking wildly. The world was a blur of stars and pressure suits and that cold, alien glass. Flashes of the hard blue light whirred past, the display dimming briefly in contrast. When the camera stabilized, it was clear to Ethan that they were now moving [i]between[/i] the massive pillars. Even on video, they were so vastly tall they made him feel dizzy. Before long they were landing, one by one, on a massive platform jutting gracefully out of the topmost point of the central tower. Two eager figures landed well ahead of the rest of the squad. [i]The scientists[/i], Ethan realized again. Then came the camera man. Soon all were accounted for; seven suited figures standing on the precipice of this monolithic installation. The camera panned slowly around, pausing ever so often when it reached one strange wonder or another. Upon closer inspection, the massive panes of glass weren't really glass at all. They seemed to have a fathomless depth, in which millions of strange symbols were embosed in the eerie blue- green light. Even the smallest of these panes were mind-numbingly huge. The camera panned to the topmost pinnacle of the tower. It tapered on one side to a thirty degree angle, rising to meet with the far side of the tower. It's peak was flattened, and out of it shone a massive column of pale blue light, stretching to infinity. Ethan felt dumstruck. He could only imagine how the seven suited figures felt actually being there, dwarfed by the alien structure. Cautiously, the foremost figure approached what appeared to be a massive door. Until now, due to it's scale, Ethan hadn't even recognized it as such. The door it's self looked bigger than all of Sigma Station proper. It was inlaid with hundreds of the strange glass panels, allowing for a distorted picture of the chamber behind. Each pane shone with a muted light; whether it came from the chamber beyond or from within the glass it's self, Ethan couldn't surmise. He shuddered. As the tiny figure approached the door, it slid silently open. Without a fuss, without so much as [i]touching[/i] the door, the panel disappeared behind the installation's facade, revealing to the wildly shaking camera the interior of the alien structure. [i]The Hive was open.[/i] [Edited on 11.02.2011 10:12 PM PDT]

i [i] want [/i] to read this, and it looks really good. its just so many words. :'( ps. this my first atempt at text formatting so if it didn't work, sorry. [edit] cool, it worked. but seriously, i think this is probably really good, but you should giv it to us interwebers in small doses. just something to think about. [Edited on 11.03.2011 12:27 PM PDT]

Oh hey there Rob! We meet on the Waypoint forums. I was just about to alert you that someone "stole" your story until I realized that Fat Bell End is your B.net name. lol.

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Spartan1995324 Oh hey there Rob! We meet on the Waypoint forums. I was just about to alert you that someone "stole" your story until I realized that Fat Bell End is your B.net name. lol.[/quote] Ha, there I go plagiarizing myself again! Just figured I'd see what the old school b.neters thought of my tale :)

[quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Badrocklover i [i] want [/i] to read this, and it looks really good. its just so many words. :'( ps. this my first atempt at text formatting so if it didn't work, sorry. [edit] cool, it worked. but seriously, i think this is probably really good, but you should giv it to us interwebers in small doses. just something to think about.[/quote] I was actually thinking that myself... [i]after[/i] I already posted four or five updates in a row... rest assured, I will only do one at a time from now on. Hopefully this will not be too much of a deterrent for many others. Well, you live and learn I guess. [Edited on 11.06.2011 3:16 PM PST]

To long, did not listen /sarcasm. It's bad-ass.