Commander Palmer had invited him to observe the Spartan-IVs in War Games at 0600 hours. The rumors around the Master Chief staying aboard the Infinity and training the newest generation of Spartans had spread like wildfire, and he had the idea that it was on purpose.
A memory from a time not too long ago, for him, at least, played in his head
Folks need heroes, Chief.
He'd recovered from most of his wounds and exhaustion following his near constant sprint of missions to stop the Covenant, the Flood, and then the Didact.
Cleared for light duty, he was back in his armor and standing on the raised platform over the simulation environment. There were various maps, but today's exercises seemed to take place in a warehouse with different levels, choke points, and no clear sightlines. It’s close enough that it brings back memories of the warehouse near Voi.
Commander Palmer greeted him with a nod and motioned to her datapad with today's roster.
"Fireteams Crimson, Ivy, and Majestic are facing off in against Domino in a new simulation. Project Cartographer has been keeping it under wraps, but say it's necessary. "
"Is it more Promethean sims?”
"I'm not sure."
From their perch they can't see the beginning of the firefight, but they can hear it and see the aftermath. Something is hitting the Fireteams hard and fast and scattering them.
"Ivy needs to tighten up their formation and Majestic needs to cut the chatter."
A humanoid blur jumps high in the air in a familiar arc that has his guts clenching and vision narrowing.
The thing is misshapen and unbalanced. A grotesque twisted creature of bloated flesh. A sick mimicry of what it used to be, who it used to be.
He's breathing hard and he can hear someone trying to talk to him over TEAMCOM. He knows logically he should listen and respond, but he's been frozen for 3.4 seconds and the Flood is onboard the Infinity.
The parasite is in his home, near his people.
He turns and runs, leaping over the railing and following his HUD to an ammo cache meant for the simulation soldiers.
AR on his back and shotgun in his hand should calm him down. He has his weapons and his mission, but all he feels is a wave of dread drowning him. Not again. He can't do this alone.
He has to move. Maybe if he stops it here and shuts down this sector it won't spread. His family is onb-
His team. His marines. He needs help and he needs back up but he wants them a million miles away from this. He opens TEAMCOM to quickly explain what's happening and what he needs. His HUD winks green; responses from Blue Team, even Riddles in his newly repaired armor. He didn't hear any of their responses over the blood rushing to his head and heart pounding in his ears.
A blur in his periphery has him spin and shoot. The thing goes down in a heap, but he knows it'll get up if he doesn't destroy the body. He has to. Needs to buy as much time as he can.
As he makes his way over to the corpse he's hit by another coming around a blind corner. He yells as they go down and he claws and tears at the Flood. New pain from reopened wounds and bruises on top of bruises helps the panic shift into pained anger.
A loud siren sounds and the Flood jolts to a stop. He takes advantage of the distraction and puts the second one down.
Shotgun lost in the fight, he scrabbles to get weak legs under him. Pulling the AR from his back he's confronted with a new enemy. It turns and runs. He chases it, knowing he needs to keep his eyes on it before it escapes or transforms into a new form.
He runs it down at a dead sprint, gun forgotten, and tackles the creature to the ground. Feedback from the former Spartan's shields glow as he lands on top of it and aims to break the corpse into something unusable. The thing is writhing and clawing at him.
I'msorryI'msorryimsorry
What?
A moment's hesitation is all there is before he's hit with a spray of bullets and rolls off the Flood to take cover, Cursing at the lost chance and his empty hands he only takes a few steps before a blue blur grabs his arm.
Kelly. Good.
He's not alone.
Terrible, because she's here and in danger.
He can't lose anyone else.
She's not letting go of his arm. Why? Why hasn't that terrible noise stopped?
Why is his team here, standing flat footed while there's an infection onboard?
Why is Fred helping the enemy of the ground?
"We need to move. There's no time. We can't let it spread."
why, why, why?
"John."
"We can save the ship if we stop the infection here. The flood, it takes them and everything they know. We can't let it escape." His throat is dry and his voice is hoarse and cracked.
He feels so small under the gaze of their visors. Palmer rounds the corner with more Spartans and John doesn't feel relieved. Why?
A greenlight in his HUD. Secure Channel. The most secure, the most familiar. He answers and let's the static wash over him.
"John. " Her voice washes over him. She's safe. She can communicate with him. He relaxes in Kelly's grip just enough that the others lower their guns. When did they have them raised?
"John, you are onboard the UNSC Infinity, it is 0615. You are safe. Blue Team responded to your call. You are on the portside simulation room of the war games simulation map on the Spartan Deck, it is October 10, 2558. You are safe. I am currently in the shipnet. Your vitals are slowly stabilizing but you have strained a ligament in your leg and bruised your ribs. again. "
"Cortana, I-" he swallows before whispering even though he knows she's the only one on the channel "it wasn't real?"
"It was real to you, John. Your family is here for you."
He's grateful that Kelly is already holding his arm when he collapses.
