#g-219

[codename-trailcutter]

Knee-Deep

[ Continued from here with @g-219​ ]

    Too close for comfort, he thought, but he’d never admit it aloud. Releasing a silently held breath along with Kitt’s shoulder, Isiah traced two fingers across his visor in response. He ended the gesture with a thumbs-up, and adopted a nonchalant air as to prevent her from worrying any. “What kind of spotter would I be if I didn’t keep you out of harm’s way?” 

    He glanced to the wisps that radiated off the plasma burns in the wall, not yet daring to poke his head out from cover. You’ve gotta run out of ammo some time, asshole. Shaking his head, he crouches down, drawing his knife from his back and carving a series of lines into the dirt before them. A rough cross of the street and locale. “...I’ve got an idea. Ballsy, sure, but, when haven’t we been.” 

    “Can’t take out our target until we deal with the asshole toting a knockoff Sunny, so... If you’re willing to dart over to the other side of that barrier- quick enough they can’t get a bead on you, but know where you are -I’ll see if I can’t come around from the other end of the building and let Sunny take a shot off while he’s preoccupied with you. Consider it...” He paused, head canting in contemplation, “...I dunno, a warning to any other counter-snipers in the area.” 

    “Our target’s going to be in our neck of the woods for a while. Even if he hears the crack of fiery ‘fuck-you’, this whole sector’s on lockdown. There’s not really a damn thing he can do about it while he’s locked in with us.” He takes a glance over to ‘Sunny’. A custom-painted Spartan Laser in full operational glory. “...Been craving roast chicken, anyhow.” 

    After that vaguely grim aside, he looks back up to Kitt, stowing his knife. “Got another idea, Kit-Kat? I’m all ears.”

[gamma-two-one-two]

Reunions

[ Starter for @g-219 ]

    A Headhunter in pale violet MJOLNIR of unidentifiable class and make creeps low to the jungle floor. It’s definitely not WRATH-class. The silvery visor glimmers as patterns are traced against the HUD. No hostiles. Yet. 

    Ceri. Am I missing anything? 

    A chipper voice at the back of her head where an AI was jacked into her SNI responded, What do you meeean ‘what am I missing’? Nothing-- Other than something to stick your knife into, of course.

    We’ll get there. Thought I’d take the scenic route. See the sights. Take out some Kig-Yar. Maybe eat a sandwich.

    The operation was supposed to be simple. Get in, take out the field leader, recover the data and wipe the consoles, then get the fuck out. 

    She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. And for once, neither was Cerebra, the chipper assistive-AI she was meant to be pilot-testing. All they knew was it had to have been a trap-- One minute, they’d just been crawling the forest floor, and then comms cut out. Then VISR intel began to malfunction. At first, Lily thought to try and rationalize it-- Maybe it was just the new suit fritzing up. But her paranoia quickly got the better of her. 

    Then she was surrounded. 

    There wasn’t enough smoother in the world to stop her now. Cerebra let out a joyful little noise that almost sounded like a whistle as the Spartan lunged. Her motions were quick, assisted, moving in a blurry, almost dizzying synchronization with the AI jacked into the back of her head. One down. Two. Three--

    Snap. 

    Whatever just connected, Lily didn’t acknowledge. Her shields pulsed a dark, warning amber. Four down, five down, six. 

    Snap. 

    Shields down entirely. 

    Spaaartan, your arm.

    Not now, Cerebra. 

    She lunges for another, and... Something else connects with her. Massive, like being hit with a freight train. 

            .     .     . 

    E-Band communications crackled, Cerebra’s voice coming through rife with static and interference. The transmission was barely intelligible. 

    :: ...ra Gamma-Two-... .. .... . ress, and in need of . . . . tance.. . . ng this, please res. . . .  ..... ll repeat for sev.... ays...::

[codename-trailcutter]

the thing(s) your muse thinks about before falling asleep. && something that gives your muse hope.

These days, after winding up on some backwater UNSC cut-off, Isiah worries for Olgr. The six-wing team of fighter pilots has seen it’s fair share of trouble, and the base as a whole has been fighting for scraps of morale for months, now. Sometimes, he wonders just how much more the place can take before it crumbles.

Faulk, Eaton, Koskowich, Rennault, Haligan. That’s his team now- His family. They saved his ass once upon a time, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t return the favour tenfold. 

Then there’s Kitt. How can Isiah go a day without thinking about her, worrying-- Wondering if she’s even still alive? If only he could reach out. If only he could win this backwater war so he could try. 

Sometimes, when he just starts to feel like he’s falling, and sleep has nearly consumed him, he swears he can hear that scream all over again.

He doesn’t sleep much on those nights.

[codename-trailcutter]

Why did you leave Kitt behind? Why didn’t you tell her you were alright? For your ‘sister’, you abandoned her real quick... Didn’t you?

Isiah remains silent for a long, long moment, tugging at the edges of his flight jacket. Eventually, he nods, slowly, looking up to gaze across at the speaker.

“...Bold. Real bold of you, you know? ...Bold of you to assume I don’t regret not trying to find her after falling to what should have been my watery grave.”

There’s hesitation. His expression seems bitter, but measured, as he chooses his words carefully. “...I didn’t go after her because I was afraid that I might have only returned to what was left of her. And now? Now... I’m afraid of being wrong. ...Of realizing you were right, and that I ‘abandoned her.’ But Kitt? ...Kitt’s a true Spartan, and don’t you dare, for a second, even think that she isn’t capable of anything. ...She doesn’t get abandoned. She’s not defenseless. ...N’ she knows that near or far, I’m with her every step, whether she can see me or not.”