Helljumper425

[uh...Enoch? Unless you're assigning me a new NPC to control, my guy's name is "Fuchs" (pronounced "Feughs").] The extraction from Requiem felt like it had taken a literal minute, and before Ashley knew it she and Fuchs were storming a hangar bay full of Promethians. That's when it dawned on her that time had a knack for speeding by when haste wasn't a desired pace. She bailed out next in line after Fuchs, whose BR85 erupted into loud salvos, sounding more like high pressure screams as opposed to the staccato growl of Ashley's BR55. As everyone had split directions, they were determined to cleanse the hangar bay. Breaking off from Ty, they covered an opposite side, making sure no additional contacts came in through the accessways. Their perimeter defense only lasted until a swarm of Crawlers rushed their position. Ashley and Fuchs were behind a set of supply crates when the first one landed on top of their cover. It was greeted with a steady three round burst from both of their weapons, resulting in a brilliant flash of orange hydraulic fluid and severed parts. Its friends were close in tow, too many to track. One leaped over their cover as the ODSTs were distracted with the groundside targets, landing on Fuchs and tackling him to the ground. Ashley was about to turn and assist when another started spraying hardlight rounds in her direction, forcing her beneath cover. Fuchs was busy struggling as the Promethian watchdog went for his throat, its split mouth snapping as he held it back against his left bracer. Finally he pushed it to his side and pinned it to the floor. With his free hand he drew the M6D from his thigh, revealing the word "Lawgiver" neatly etched into its matte-black slide as he pressed the barrel to his opponent's center mass. "Court's adjourned." With that, he hammered three rounds into its chest, point-blank until the thing went limp, crumbling to pieces as it ceased aggression. Just in time for a recovery, a second Crawler landed on top of him, which he now held back at the neck with both hands. "Jesus Christ! What the f---?!" Suddenly, Ashely loomed overhead, Ka-bar drawn in one hand. "Keep it steady!" "Trying!" he winced, straining to push the synthetic as far away as possible. Ashley brought her knife down, slamming the blade through its back, causing it to seize up and eventually roll off like a petrified possum. Fuchs gave it a cautionary shot to head before accepting Soto's helping hand. "Good God..." "You okay?" "How come they didn't go for you?" Ashley shrugged. "They like you more." He shook his head, retrieving his rifle. And with that, they searched out their team leader, finding him against a wall just a few feet from the ambient glow of a Promethian spark. Ashley kneeled beside him as Fuchs about-faced and watched the perimeter. "Sarge," she waved a hand over his visor. "Sarge you still with us?"

"Due East of here--high ground."

Fuchs grumbled quietly to himself as he revealed his presence entirely, slowly advancing with his weapon ready-low and his figure hunched tight. "Keep you voice down," he hissed, taking up a kneel beside the formation. Upon request, the rucksack came off of his back, centered among the group, and Arnold began distributing his ammunition surplus. "I broke contact with our original extraction point when comms started acting up--" He was cut off by the roar of Pelican thrusters as the evac bird loomed overhead, slowly descending to their location. "But since it's here now...I left our shooter to cover the LZ. If we go back to pick her up, we'll probably just end up leading the rest of the covvies out here back to her and we risk losing everyone."

[seems I missed all the fun too. Screw you, Time Zones.] Soto's gun hadn't been fired all day, though from the sights and sounds through her scope she could hardly say it was a good day. When everyone else was firing it typically called for an implied "fire at will" order, but seeing as she and Fuchs were tasked with covering their exit plan they couldn't break cover. The cackles of static made it less comforting for the both of them to keep quiet. "Screw it," Fuchs switched off his binocs and stuffed them in his rucksack. Then, with a startled Ashley trailing his frantic movement with her eyes, he rolled to one side to fit the pack's straps on and took up his BR85. "I'm gonna regroup with them. We still have them on IFF." Concern washed over Ashley's face as she went to safety her DMR. "Who's gonna cover the exit then?" Fuchs managed to stop her from packing up her rig by placing a hand over the weapon's upper, then, assuringly, he patted her on the helmet. "You're dependable enough." A few minutes later, Fuchs had zeroed in on Hazard Actual's location. It was an easy task granted the direction of gunfire and trail of bodies. He ducked low behind a crate as he heard voices, listening intently to rule out the possibility of alien tongues. Convinced that the voice belonged to Hazard's team leader, he announced his presence on comms. "Friendly comin' in. Check fire to your west." He gave a subtle wave, a notable expression in the dark for anyone using image enhancements.

Ashley had taken the far side of the ridge, opposite to Ty and Logan, lying prone from a safe distance as she observed the exchanging fire leading to the suppression of the Covenant reinforcements. Beside her was Corporal Arnold Fuchs, who was equally low with a set of binoculars pressed against his visor. "Sean Connery," he muttered. Ashley was silent as she pulled her gaze away from her DMR's scope, glancing at her acting-spotter, nothing the stenciled image of a Mythosaur skull on the slope of his helmet before looking at his visor. "Every James Bond movie out there." "Name one," he said flatly. "From 'Russia With Love'." "'The Rock,'" he replied, keeping the flow of his little game going. "Oh, Nicholas Cage." "Damn it--'Face Off.'" There was a long pause this time. Finally Ashley looked back at her scope, shaking her head with a stifled curse. "I give up." "Three and Oh." "You've played this game too much." "Hey, I got roped into a boring, bull**** op. Sue me." Soto's helmet stifled her laugh. She was about to say something about choosing him because he was recommended by a trusted friend and former squad mate, but he spoke again, beginning with a chiding laugh. "'Hazard Team,'" he scoffed. "Jee-zus. Makes us sound like an anomalous materials handling crew." "You could've said no." He shook his head. "You were in the same squad as one of the best Helljumpers I've ever followed. How can I say no to a friend of a friend like that?" Neutrally, his hand raised between them, a single index finger meant to silence her. "You know what--don't answer that. Just check in." "It's already time?" "Yep." With a slight application of pressure to the chin pad in her helmet, Soto brought her comm to life. "This is Hazard 1-3 to Hazard Actual. Extraction point is still void of all hostiles. Over."

Soto glanced over her shoulder at Murphy. A friendly grin formed behind her deep blue visor. "Speak for yourself. You've got enough of us to form a wall."

Miraculously with the help of a few fast fingers, Lance Corporal Soto found herself in the hangar bay just in time for the breifing, donned in full ODST Vacuum Grade. For safety purposes, she kept her BR55 without any loaded magazines, which was slung and clattering against her thigh as she walked, same as the modified DMR on her assault vest's magnetic slot. The only firearm that was ready to go--at all times for various reasons--was the M6C at her right thigh. At the conclusion of the very brief "briefing" Ashley couldn't help but shrug. She had been in a squad for no more than a half hour and they were already on a callsign basis with highcom. Nonetheless, she would follow along as instructed, onwarding to the designated assembly area.

[Jesus Cristo. You guys hand out court martials like candy lol.] Soto bit the inside of her mouth as she contemplated the monniker. "So...Hazard Squad, First Fireteam, Third unit?" As she was familiar with callsigns, typically the company callsign would be stated first, then the first number would indicate which platoon, then the second number would indicate squad designation. Infinity's ODSTs must've had a different method, one she would eventually learn. It was likely due to the fact that they were in the presence among higher tier special forces, thus working in smaller, more manageable groups than full platoons. "Works for me," she said with a shrug. "If all else fails, you can call me 'Grim' on comms. The boys seemed to like it."

[sure thing. I've got a whole mental roster.] Soto cocked her head and shrugged. "I haven't been in a permanent fireteam, let alone squad since I got here, so if you're offering. And now that you mention it," she continued, scratching the back of her neck, "I might have someone in mind; Corporal Fuchs, he's an Oh-Three-Eleven (Rifleman)."

Ashley gave a slow exhale through her nose to mask her internal laughter. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head and spoke again. "I'm honest enough to buy my own pack. But anyway," she looked past Bauer at Ty. "I heard someone needs replacements."

Ashley arrived at the barracks, parting the automatic door just in time to see a trooper being thrown across the room, impacting the wall back first. She kept her hand over her holstered M6C, but didn't draw it, instead raising her brows as she recognized Bauer assisting Ty to his feet. She glanced around the room as she warily stepped inside, observing other potential threats. After the Spartan IV relayed his assessment, she finally eased her hand away, flexing her fingers. "So about temper control," she said, shifting her weight with arms folded. "With the way you guys hand out NJPs and court-martials I'm afraid to so much as steal a pack of chewing gum."

Godspeed, child.

Ashley emerged at the range's gate, DMR resting on her shoulder. She adjusted her ballistic goggles then snapped her fingers next to her ear plugs to ensure that safety was in check. Satisfied, she slapped a fresh magazine of 7.62x39 Steel Core, popped the safety off and leveled her sights on the cutout targets. Her first shots were way off, barely hitting in the six mark on the targets. This was a new rifle, so a calibration run was to be expected. After adjusting the sight, she tried again. This time the shot was deeper in the center mass, though off-center a few inches down and to the left. She tried again, and by the third adjustment on her scope, it was hitting dead center from her shoulder. "Hot damn," she said to herself with a smile, popping out the magazine before yanking back the action to clear her chamber.

[Not trying to toss your salad or anything, HaloGeek, it's just things happened in the few pages back there that seemed really out of the ordinary. I just like bringing it to attention before such deviation gets out of hand. I've been RPing for a long time now and I've seen some crazytalk happen. I've seen people get Spartan augmentations through "pills that were slipped into their drink," I've seen regular humans outmatching Spartans because they had, and I quote, "nano suits that were resistant to bullets and plasma." It gets hard to keep track of.] Somewhere in the far corners of the armory, Ashley was in talks with a rather well-unrested quarter master. "What do you mean it's been here for the last week? I've only been here for three days!" she shouted, up in arms. The Private First Class shrugged. "Your requisition got intercepted mid-transfer. So if anyone was behind schedule, it was you." "Well no ****..." She put her hands on her hips. "Alright, let's see it." The quarter master cracked open a rifle case, turning it about to display the contents. Inside was a fully modified, fully equipped M395, the sight of which left a grizzly smirk on Ashley's face as she reached for it. It weighed about as much as any other rifle, save for its greater topheavyness, the result of a high-end scope designed by Misriah. It had a greater magnification and smart-linked VISR-compatible system that allowed for enhanced threat detection. It may not have had the same kick as an SRS, but then again, on certain operations, it didn't scream as much "overkill" as the echo of a .50 caliber sabot round. "Thanks, chief," she said, hiding her glee as she hefted the rifle in her arms and turned away for the courtyard.

[it's called fanon--when someone creates something that isn't in the lore and suddenly treats it as such. Apparently Cortez just pulled out an anti-everything bubble that isolated him, two evil-doing ODSTs and Ty in the same place. I'm not sure what HaloGeek was goinf for with this, but I personally think it could be done some other way. My two cents for right now.] Soto lounged in the barracks piecing her BR55 back together. There was nothing like a good clean rifle to brighten her day.

Rather than remotely showing an interest in the cockfight that was the War Games session, Ashley remained in the barracks cleaning her BR55. The impromptu use of the weapon was not what she was hoping for on her first assignment with the Infinity task force, Promethians, Flood, a yet-unknown detonation that cost Charlie Base a whole friggin' sector. Screw it all, she thought as she drove her metal brush down the rifle's barrel.

Soto heard the thanks as she reentered the base but she wasn't sure she actually listened to it or not, still wound up from the fight, the scuffle with that Gunnery Sergeant, and the fact that she was now just accepting that she was just a small piece of a bigger picture. She reached the barracks, coming out of her armor. She made haste this time around, hoping to get out of it before her paranoid mindset made her decide to go on another patrol. She finished up with the unloading of her rifle, decocking it safetly by ejecting the chambered round by hand and pulling the trigger with nothing more than a click. In her now worn-in BDUs and tank top, she turned in, collapsing into her cot, and hoped for at least four hours of rack time.

"Yeah, no problem." Soto's partial good mood was at a dangerously close point of being lost as the Lieutenant reminded her of the incident, his words hanging between them like a knife above the thread of all of her virtuous self. She took a breath and let it go. "Well, with all due respect, s*** happens I guess." She lazily saluted and turned away. "See you 'round."

Ashley's face tightened into a slight, disgusted frown as she watched the Lieutenant brush the blood away from his wounds. "Here." She pulled a small bottle of saline and disinfectant from her kit, along with a wad of gauze pads and bandages. Handing him the bandage roll and gauze, she took it upon herself to pour the saline over his wound, then the disinfectant. After that, she took the gauze back and pressed it against the damaged area. "Keep pressure on it. First time combating flood?" she asked while securing the intervention with a steady roll of bandages. He might need a corpsman for this.

At that, the Lance Corporal took a breath and relaxed. Giving him a nod, she put it all behind her. It was a good thing this one wasn't like most; "do as I say and do your job" types were wearing on her at her current, probably permanent rank. It was a good change of pace to see a Lieutenant, now that she had time to observe his bars, seeing eye to eye with a regular grunt. Observing the engagement of his first aid, she approached him with her IFAK in hand, popping open the pouch. "You need a hand?"

Ashley's hand tightened into a fist again, but this time ready for an chew-out session with the speaker. That quickly died as she watched the man pass by, noting that the one talking was a Spartan, and by title alone implied he could possibly have outranked her by the officer category. She straightened out, exhaling through gritted teeth. She had already floored a Gunny, she didn't need to start up trouble with another superior, much less one that could open a tank with his hands. "Sir..." she said flatly in acknowledgment. Screw that.

"He's not gonna be so lucky with me," she muttered, turning about, taking a shortcut to the motor pool as the tanks were recalled back inside. She identified Charlie 3-1 and power walked beside his tank, unbeknownst to him as she slung her rifle. The moment he stepped out, she clasped her hands around the collar of his vest and slammed him back first into the treads of his own tank. Without so much as addressing the man's rank, she brought herself visor-to-face with the man. "You undisciplined, stupid f***ing beeb! I've half a mind to beat you within in inch of your life after what you just did!" With a snap of force, the man shoved Ashley back, prying her fingers off his vest. "Stand down, fireball! Be lucky we arrived when we did, or the whole fighting force would've been food right now. I think a thank you would've been more appropriate if you still want to get out of this without an NJP." Soto swore, out loud as she balled her hand into a fist, cocked back and took a swing. The tanker, like a Gunnery Sergeant, was faster than he looked though, sidestepping the strike and grabbing her arm, pulling her in a follow through motion into his tank. Her armor clanked against the titanium plating, and just then she felt his hands seize the back of her helmet and her shoulder, intent on restraining her against the tank. Ashley drove an elbow back into his gut just in time, softening his grip, then loosening entirely as she drove her heel back into his knee. She about-faced and put him in a partial headlock where she was at liberty to knee him in the rib cage. From there, she grabbed his helmet, slamming his head once against the parked Scorpion, letting him rebound back flat onto the cold floor. By that time, a few hands managed to restrain her, not of MPs, but of Marines. "That's enough, trooper!" one shouted as she struggled. "It's over, cut it out!" She finally eased up, relaxing her tensed muscles. She looked around the room, as did the Marines, and noted the number of eyes they had gathered. Without even looking, the man gave the best suggestion she had heard all day. "Get out of here." She didn't utter a word after that, just marched out of the motorpool with her helmet hung at her side.

Soto held on to the edge of the platform at the last moment, her gloved fingers fighting to keep her from following the fate of those below. Her rifle dangled by its strap in her other hand, so she tossed ahead of her before pulling herself to her feet, muttering every curse she could think of. She rose just in time to see another ODST's hands scrambling at the deck plates. She grabbed hold, helping the soldier to his...no her, feet. "Thanks," the woman said between breaths. Soto held a thumbs up as she swept up her rifle. "Anytime." With that, she got on comms again. "Which one of you mother f***ing tankers didn't aim your shots accordingly? Do the words 'friendly fire' not mean a damn thing to you?"

Before Soto could even drop a simple, irritated, "Really," she found herself nearly being trampled by a mob of Spartans, ODSTs, Marines and she was pretty sure she even saw a Navy cook rush out, brandishing a spatula. Needless to say, there was a greater task than patrolling at this point. With a deep sigh, she followed the ranks, acquired the nearest targets--a staggering, shambling cluster of infected Sangheili combat forms--and opened fire. Their damaged shield generators couldn't take much damage, so a well-placed burst of armor piercing did most of them in, tearing through their mottled flesh like wet tissue paper. The residual armor was a bit of a challenge however, but thankfully from her research, their central hub of control was the center mass. Suddenly, three tanks arrived on the scene and started shelling the infestation. Soto lowered the still-smoking barrel of her BR55 and slacked her shoulders. "Well so much for that..."