"Better get going, Six, they're gonna need you down there. Listen, Reach has been good to me. Time has come to return the favor. Don't deny me this." "Tell 'em to make it count."
For a moment, Corey was glad for his helmet. Reach had been good to all of them, it’d been their home, the place where bonds had been forged between brothers and sisters, growing from scared little kids to soldiers who inspired fear in the heart of the enemy. As he clasped his brother’s hand, he felt the tears well in his eyes. They had lost so many, yet they would all make this sacrifice for one another, for any of the millions of souls below. He wanted to tell him no, to take his place, and by the steel in his eyes, Jorge knew it too. They had only recently reunited, and he didn’t know how he could turn and walk away. Turns out Jorge saw that, too. As he handed over his tags, he gripped Corey’s hand, his other arm securing him, lifting him bodily from the ground - all half a ton of supersoldier and armor, as though he weighed little more than a sack of flour. As he drifted, caught by Reach’s gravity, he let the tears flow freely. It was a good death, he knew. As good a death as any Spartan could hope for. But that didn’t change the ache that grew within him as another piece of his family, of himself, died. Then, there was fire and pain, physical sensation that he focused on to the exclusion of all else. Ignoring the slipspace ruptures detected, the rush of more Covvies than even Reach could defend against. Just focus on the next step, the next enemy. And then the next until you kill them all, or you join him. He hauled himself out of the crater his impact had made in the instacrete at the edge of New Alexandria, staring up into the burning sky. Checking to ensure that Jorge’s tags had survived the fall, he kept them close. “We’ll win this war, or die trying. And I’ll give my last breath to see our home free again. Rest well, brother, and keep the fire burning for me. Find peace among our kin, you’ve earned it. I’ll see you soon.” Tucking the tags into his armor, Corey checked his sidearm, limping into the outskirts of the city. The civilians needed him.
