The rain drummed against the armored glass of the hangar.
Spartan-II Mike-087 stood motionless before the thunderous silhouette of the UNSC Zephyr, a heavy frigate transporter, ready for the next mission.
His MJOLNIR Mark V[B] helmet hung in his left hand, while his right gripped the magnetic latch of his MA5D assault rifle.
"Spartan Mike, report to command," a voice croaked over the internal COM. "ONI priority code Black-One."
Mike knew what that meant: no briefing in the officers' mess, no files to sift through. Black-One meant he was receiving information he couldn't even share with his own comrades.
The corridor to the command room was silent, only the soft hum of the power supply echoed through the steel walls. When the door opened, he was greeted by a woman in a black ONI uniform. No rank insignia. Just cold eyes.
"Spartan Mike. You fought on Reach before it fell."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Then you know what might still be buried down there."
On the holotable before her appeared a map of Reach's southern continent. Among scorched lands blinked a yellow marker.
"We received a signal. Deep beneath the remains of CASTLE Base. Ancient Forerunner technology. And data… very old data. Your mission: extraction and secure handover to ONI."
Mike nodded. "Insertion team?"
"Fireteam Echo — a Spartan-III sniper, an ODST explosives specialist, and a Marine veteran as field officer."
"And the enemy?"
"Covenant remnants. Not many — but organized. Also…" She hesitated. "…there are reports of unknown contacts."
Mike donned his helmet. The visor glowed cold gold.
"Mission accepted."
As he left the room, only one thought occupied him: Reach was dead. But in the shadows of dead worlds sometimes live things better left undisturbed.
The briefing was over. Now only the team mattered.
Mike entered the Zephyr's armory, where three figures were busy checking gear.
A slender Spartan woman in matte gray SPI armor was the first finished.
Her visor reflected the white light of the overhead lamps.
"Sniper Linda-312?" Mike asked.
"Delta-class, Spartan-III," she corrected tersely. "Name: Kyra. I can shoot at ten kilometers. Talk… not quite that far."
Next to her stood a broad-shouldered ODST wearing dark tinted glasses that never came off, even indoors.
"Explosives expert Cole," he introduced himself. "If it goes boom, it was either my idea… or a plan error." He grinned while stuffing a crate of C-12 charges into his backpack.
The third was neither Spartan nor ODST.
An old Marine, gray temples, weathered face. His M45 shotgun looked older than him.
"Sergeant Mason," he said with a rough voice. "I'm here to make sure you supersoldiers don't forget how to fight on the ground."
Kyra snorted softly. "And I thought we were here to stay off the ground."
Mike let his gaze sweep over them. Three different temperaments, three different fighting styles.
He knew ONI deliberately mixed teams like this — conflict either forged bonds or tore them apart.
"Listen," Mike began, "this is no training mission. Reach is dead but not empty. We land, secure the site, grab the package, and vanish. No solo runs."
Cole clicked his tongue. "Sounds boring. Hope it won't be."
"Hopefully it will," Mike replied, checking the ammo status on his MA5D. "Boring means we all come back."
Over the speakers came the pilot's voice:
"Fireteam Echo, five minutes to launch. Load your toys and buckle up."
Mike felt a familiar feeling stir beneath his helmet — a mix of tension and calm.
It was time to go to the ground again.
The ramp of the Pelican Talon One closed with a metallic thud.
The hum of the engines deepened into a roar as the pilot steered the craft out of the Zephyr's hangar.
Mike sat in the rear, weapon magnet on his thigh, helmet closed.
Next to him, Kyra double-checked the scope on her SRS99-AM sniper rifle. Cole sat back, chewing gum casually, while Mason silently pumped the action on his shotgun.
Over the radio, the pilot reported:
"Fireteam Echo, approaching Reach. ETA twenty minutes. No contacts in range… yet."
Mike glanced at the HUD. The orbital view of the planet flickered — scorched continents, crater fields, veils of ash clouds. Reach.
He hoped never to return.
Suddenly, the motion sensor blared.
"Contact! Two Seraph fighters, vector 029, closing fast!" the copilot called out.
"Hold tight," growled the pilot.
The Talon One banked hard. Plasma fire streaked past the windows like blue spears.
Cole grinned beneath his visor. "Finally, some action."
Mike threw open the side hatch and grabbed the mounted M247H machine gun.
He fired long bursts at the first Seraph. Sparks flew, an engine exploded, and the ship staggered into the atmosphere.
Kyra sent a precise sniper shot with armor-piercing rounds into the cockpit of the second fighter. The Seraph burst into flames and vanished behind the clouds.
"Good work, Echo," the pilot praised. "Hold course. Entry in five."
The atmosphere gripped the dropship like a fist. The hull vibrated, flames licking the windows.
Below, the cloud veil broke — a landscape of blackened ruins and glowing fissures appeared.
Then the HUD flickered.
An unknown radio signal pierced through, deep and distorted, like an echo from the depths:
"You… are… too late…"
Cole looked at Mike. "Please tell me that was one of ours."
Mike didn't answer. He knew it wasn't.
The Talon One touched down hard. Dust and ash swirled like walls of fog around the Pelican as the engines powered down.
Mike was the first to jump from the ramp, MA5D at the ready, sensors set to maximum range.
Reach smelled of burnt metal and wet earth.
Charred debris lay everywhere — wrecks of Warthogs, melted armor plates, skeletons of buildings whose steel beams jutted like bones into the gray sky.
No movement. No sound except the crunch of rubble under boots.
"Secure sector Alpha," Mike ordered.
Kyra immediately took position atop a ruined building, SRS99 raised.
Cole and Mason moved flanking, checking cover and chokepoints.
"No contacts," Kyra reported over comms. "But… I see fresh tracks. Not human."
"Size?"
"Elites. Two, maybe three squads. Within the last twelve hours, probably."
Mike glanced skyward. Covenant patrols this deep meant they were also searching for the signal — or had already found something.
"ONI control, this is Echo. Landing zone secure. Proceeding to CASTLE Base. Possible enemy contact nearby."
"Copy, Echo. Priority one: secure the package. Everything else secondary."
They marched down the hill toward the once-underground research facility.
The terrain grew restless — cracks in the ground, heat-blackened rock fissures.
Suddenly, Mike's motion tracker vibrated.
"Contact! Nine o'clock!" Mason shouted.
Plasma rounds hissed through the fog. Reflexes took over — Mike dropped low, firing short controlled bursts while Cole hurled a frag grenade into the smoke.
A piercing scream, then silence.
As the dust settled, a dead Elite Ultra lay before them — but its body was strangely marked. The armor dented as if something pressed from within.
Kyra climbed down and knelt beside the corpse. "This wasn't a normal fight… this one was already injured. By something that doesn't leave plasma marks."
Mike looked into the distance, where the fog thickened.
"Then we're not the only ones here. And neither are the Covenant."
The march toward CASTLE Base led them deeper into the ravaged valley.
Above, shattered steel beams jutted like crooked fingers into the sky, remnants of once-mighty defenses.
The silence was oppressive — only the wind drove ash through broken windows.
Mike activated the team channel.
"Echo, stay sharp. ONI didn't tell us everything."
Kyra chuckled dryly. "ONI never does."
"Maybe this time," Mason muttered, but his tone betrayed doubt.
After an hour, they reached the first signs:
Among the rubble stood metallic structures — smooth, alien, without rust, as if built yesterday.
Forerunner technology.
Cole stepped closer, touched the surface. "Cold as ice. No seams, no screws. This thing… grew, not built."
Kyra scanned it. "It's sending a signal. Weak, but definitely active."
Mike opened the ONI channel.
"Control, this is Echo. Forerunner structure on site. Signal confirmed. Further orders?"
Silence.
Then a delayed reply:
"Ignore the signal. Your priority remains the data archive in CASTLE Base."
Mike froze. Ignore? In any other mission, such a find would be top priority.
He switched back to the team channel.
"ONI wants us to leave it."
Cole snorted. "And? Do we?"
Mike looked at the alien structure, its patterns pulsing faintly in the dim light.
"No."
They marked the location for a later return and continued.
But as they neared CASTLE Base, the signs grew denser.
Not just Covenant — massive claw-like prints in the dust, deep cracks in the concrete, as if something tried to break through.
As they closed in on the entrance, Kyra's voice crackled over comms — tight, almost a whisper:
"Mike… we're not alone. Something's moving down there. Big."
The dim light of the underground CASTLE Base flickered unevenly across damp walls.
The musty smell of oil and old electronics hung heavy.
Mike led Fireteam Echo through the labyrinthine complex, weapons ready, senses sharp.
Suddenly a comm signal cracked — not from their team, but a distorted voice that stole their breath:
"Stop immediately. Leave the base. This is not your fight."
"ONI?" Mason whispered.
"No. Something else."
Then the ambush: From a side chamber, an energy shield rose and infiltrators opened fire.
Flashes, screams. Cole was hit, falling badly wounded, his gear exploding in a bright fireball.
"Fall back!" Mike shouted, dragging Cole behind cover.
But the trap was perfect. Part of the team was surrounded by a squad of Elites, supported by an unexpected new enemy — mechanical, fast, eerie.
In the heat of battle, Kyra was captured. Her sniper rifle clattered to the floor as energy shackles bound her.
Mike clenched his fist. "Damn it, we have to get her out."
Sergeant Mason dragged the wounded Cole to safety.
"We can't just leave her!"
"Orders are orders. But we break her out or we're done for."
Mike grabbed the COM. "ONI, Echo reporting heavy contact. Team member captured. Requesting support."
Silence. Then the cold reply:
"Mission takes priority. Leave the base. Evacuation not authorized."
Mike stared at the radio. Betrayal. From above.
He looked at his team, at Kyra, trapped and helpless.
"We're doing this our way," he said. "No Spartan leaves his teammates behind."
The metallic clink of energy cuffs echoed in Mike's ears as he shattered them.
The underground complex burned, sparks flying from torn cables, smoke thickening into clouds.
"I'm coming, Kyra," he murmured, voice as hard as steel.
With MA5D at the ready, he fought through corridors of debris and panicked Elites. Every step a battle against time and death.
The walls vibrated as the Forerunner artifact deep below began to pulse. A cold blue light shone through the mist, sending waves of energy out.
Enemy Elite squads formed, but Mike didn't flinch.
He relied on speed, covering fire from Cole and Mason, who held the rear — but they were miles away.
Finally, he reached the cell where Kyra was held.
With an explosive charge, he blew the lock, pulled her out, dragging her to cover.
"You're late," Kyra gasped, but relief shone in her eyes.
"No Spartan leaves his comrades behind."
Outside, the battle raged on as the artifact charged — a signal shooting into the darkness, deep and old, a call to an unknown power.