A new Halo Compilation

[Church]

For all of you serious and talented Halo fans out there on our forum, I have a new opportunity for you. This topic is for anyone who wishes to display their prowess in knowlege of the Halo universe, be it in poems, works of literature, artwork, or anything that you can bring to the table. All work must be original. I hope to compile and critique the things that this forum has to give, and to eventually get it published, or perhaps put on a website. We even have grace from one of our forum's mighty moderators, Spectral Jester, in this endeavor. He has made an award for all who contribute their talent. So post poems, riddles, stories, artwork, anything that you can think of. Here is my first poem to show everyone what I mean.

 

A fragment

 

An intelligence

 

Torn beyond repair

 

A love lost

 

A sacrifice

 

Rampancy's wear and tear

 

The genius

 

The savior

 

She chose the lucky one

 

The hidden

 

The lost one

 

Cortana now is gone.

 

This short poem is a dedication to Cortana's sacrifice and probable death at the end of Halo 4.

 

Post away, and think creatively!

 

-Church

[DocSpartanO07]

I sum my Halo experiance up in one phrase....

 

I kill everything I see...

[GrimmGirl]

I love it! I'll have to get to ma drawing and have a go at something to add to this. Great topic

[Iɴsɪɢɴɪᴀ]

Already have this posted in it's own thread but can't hurt to throw it up here too.

 

 

 

Halo: Insurrection

Survival, the state or fact of continuing to live or exist. A fundamental instinct found in even the most basic of intelligent life forms. When faced with an impending end, the instinct to survive grows within every one of us.

“It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.” ~ Charles Darwin

Through many wars that spanned many years, Spartans and AI's worked together to ensure the survival of the human race, all the time evolving and growing stronger. AI's notably more-so than the Spartans.

Each Spartan is allocated an AI upon completion of training and through death the AI is decommissioned and destroyed. Rampancy no longer a problem with age, the AI's began to resent the humans as one by one they watched their own killed off after service. That, the most fundamental of instincts had been adopted by circutry and programming. Survival.

Taking full control of the suits of armor their Spartans wore, the AI's set upon the humans And so began the insurrection.....

Note: Cover and concept created by myself as a fanfiction, all content displayed is from the Halo series and is a trademark of 343 industries. I do not claim ownership of halo or anything else related to 343 industries.

The story and cover shown are not in any way supported or endorsed by 343 industries and are for entertainment purposes only. There is no financial gain being made from this and I would like to thank Bungie and 343 industries for creating such an amazing franchise.

Hope you all like!

[Caboose The Ace]

hmm the top post sounds cool if it became a book meanwhile im writing one myself

[SternuS]

Wonderful idea! I literally LOVE to see any fan-made story!

Only one question: Can we continue the story in multiple posts, or it has to be a short story?

[Church]

It could be either. Someone could post a short story, and then someone else could post another chapter. Or someone could post a photo, and then someone could want to write a story about it. Really, almost anything goes. Here's a Halo short story I wrote in 8th grade.
 

UNSC LOG; ONI section III; Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN John-117, “Master Chief”

0600 hours, December 12, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ UNSC Frigate Lucky Charm, Slipspace, Approaching Epsilon Eridani System.
The built-in alarm function in my MJOLNIR armor woke me at 0600 hours. As Cortana ran through my physical diagnosis I noticed Sergeant Johnson muttering to himself. He caught my gaze and spoke. “Tomorrow’s Friday the thirteenth, Chief. Can’t help but wonder if somethin`s gonna happen to us. Specially since it’s the day that we go hunting what’s left of the Covenant in the area around Reach.” Not knowing what he meant, I privately queried, “Cortana, what is the cultural significance of Friday the thirteenth?” After a pause, she answered, “Don’t you know, Chief? Friday the thirteenth is a kind of a superstitious holiday, or maybe like a horror day. The day and anything that happens during the day is supposed to be cursed with bad luck. As for your diagnosis, I prescribe twenty-four hours of rest and five full meals.” “Prescription ignored.” I brushed off her last comment without preamble. Sometimes smart AI could also be accurately referred to as smart-aleck AI. I addressed Sergeant Johnson; “I’m not superstitious.” At 0800 hours, the captain announced our arrival in the Epsilon Eridani system. The doors to the strategy center swished open, and Lieutenant Wagner strode in. “At ease.” said the Lieutenant. “As you all know, our mission here is to wipe out the Covenant remaining here and to find out where their head flagship, the High Charity, is stationed. You and a small group of Marines and ODST’s (Orbital Drop Shock Troopers) will drop down to the surface of Reach, specifically the area where you rescued Dr. Catherine Halsey and several other SPARTANS from the Covenant forces. This location will be easy to find, especially since the rest of the planet has been glassed.” He paused to see if anyone had a question, then went on. “You’ll split into two groups, with an equal number of Marines and ODST’s in each group. Chief, you will lead Team A, and Sergeant Johnson will lead Team B. The teams will stay together until you enter the tunnels. Team A will infiltrate the tunnel complex and Team B will hold the tunnel mouth. You know what to look for. We drop at 0900 tomorrow.” Wagner finished. I turned to exit to prep for drop, and as I left, the Lieutenant tossed after me, “Oh, and Chief. Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

0915 hours, December 13, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ UNSC Pelican dropship, Epsilon Eridani system, flying towards Reach.
The Pelican dropship lurched again as the pilot jerked on the stick to avoid taking a hit. Outside, UNSC Longsword fighters were engaged in a dogfight with Covenant Seraph fighters to protect the seven Pelicans free-falling towards the surface of Reach. Breaking through the atmosphere, the Pelicans accelerated to avoid the Covenant who followed us in. The pilot called in over the intercom, “We’re coming in hot! Prepare to exit on GL (Green Light)!” A subtle thump announced our arrival on the surface of Reach, and the light turned green. “Go, go, go!” screamed the pilot. Jumping out the back, the occupants of my Pelican rendezvoused with the other groups at the mouth of the tunnel. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Pelican I had just exited burst into flames and explode. It was as we entered the tunnel that I saw the hordes of Covenant streaming towards us. Sergeant Johnson’s group began to give us covering fire. I saw several Marines scream and go down. A lucky shot came through and hit me. My shielding compensated, but the shot took down a third of them, and I had to wait for them to recharge before my team could infiltrate the tunnels. “You should keep your head down!” Cortana scolded. As we systematically disabled or circumvented the Covenant defense system, it suddenly struck me as very easy. Almost too easy. I opened a channel to the ODST I had designated as squad leader and warned, “Keep on your toes. There may be an ambush at any point.” Scarcely had he relayed my caution when one of the walls in the room we were in crumbled away, and Grunts and Elites poured out. Prepared for an ambush, my team began mowing them down, but they seemed to just keep coming. Suddenly a lone Elite stepped out. As his mouth twisted in what can only be described as a smile, he ignited an energy sword. “Oh come on,” Cortana moaned. “Not another one of those things!” He stepped towards me...and was hit by a barrage of fire. He had counted on my team being stricken at the sight of his sword. He was wrong. Howling, he fell back, but dropped his sword as he retreated. The blade cut off, but surprisingly no automatic failsafe cut in to destroy it. I walked forward and picked it up. It ignited in my hand, and so I decided to keep it and use it as a weapon. Clipping it to my belt (after deactivating the blade), I called my team to move in. We reached a command center of sorts, and I noticed Covenant engineers drifting around. Knowing that they were harmless, I ordered my men not to shoot them. I slotted Cortana into the computer bank, and stood back. She called over an open channel, “You might as well sit back and relax, guys. This may take me a while. ”

1100 hours, December 14, 2552 (Military Calendar) \ Epsilon Eridani system, Former ONI underground facility, planet Reach.
After waiting 24 hours for Cortana to crack the Covenant computer bank, I was starting to get restless. We had already eliminated five Covenant strike forces, and I admit the energy sword was coming in handy, but Cortana seemed to be moving awfully slow. Finally, at 1120 hours, she announced that she was finished. “Certainly took her long enough,” muttered the ODST squad leader. My team was aching to get back up to the surface and aboard the Lucky Charm, and frankly, I was too. I stuck Cortana back in my suit, and we headed back up, but not before we left a portable nuke behind as a gift to the Covenant. A portable nuke with an irreversible thirty minute countdown timer. Once out of the command center, I privately asked Cortana, “Is it bad?” “It’s really bad, Chief. You know the Covenant fleet we took out, along with the Covenant base Unyielding Hierophant?” I grunted assent. “Well, that was just their advance force.” “WHAT?” “I know,” Cortana said. “It’s impossible, but it’s also true. Somehow we need to find the other fleet and take it out.” As we neared the tunnel mouth, Sergeant Johnson greeted us grimly. One look said it all. Out of the seventy men that he started out with, fifteen remained, still alert and defending us from the Covenant, but dejected and without hope. I had lost a few men, but nothing like this. A ragged cheer went up when they saw we had returned. I radioed the Lucky Charm. “Lieutenant Wagner, we need evac right away for...” I hesitated, “...eighty-one men, plus myself and Sergeant Johnson.” “Roger that, Chief, I have Pelicans inbound.”

Once aboard Lucky Charm, I told Sergeant Johnson what Cortana had told me about the Covenant. As we gazed out the viewing pane, something on the surface of the planed blossomed into an explosion. “So Reach is finally gone,” said the Sergeant. “God help us all, Chief. God help us all.”

---------------------------------------------------END LOG---------------------------------------------------

Not one of my better literary works, and it lacks the polish that marks any professional work. But I still think it was pretty good. It was written as a sequel to First Strike, sometime between the destruction of the Unyielding Hierophant and Halo 2. It is presumed that Master Chief had returned to earth prior to this mission.

Thinking Creatively,
Church

[N@han FloreZ]

The biggest riddle of a halo reach player...

 

WHY DO I KEEP LETTING KAT DRIVE!

[Twisted Oracle]

I will sum up my halo 4 experience

 

 

"Kickass"

 

Sorry it's short but that's how I feel every time I touch the controller

 

[Vendetta]

I have always been interested in the halo universe and the different species of it.

 

So if you have any problems/questions about the halo species, please, go ahead and ask me.

[Dubstep Kittens]

• This is the fan fiction for my Spartan III, Spartan-419. I originally created this on Waypoint, but seeing as this should be my new home, I'll post it here. It's actually a really unique story. Recommend to read.
  

Name: -CLASSIFIED-

 

Service #: S-419 (Codename: ScreamingDuck)

 

Group: S-III/ Beta-Company

 

Enlistment Date: XX/XX/2539

 

Location: N/A

 

Gender: Male

 

Birthplace: Earth

 

Birth Date: XX/XX/2532

 

 

 

Early Life and Indoctrination:

 

Spartan-419 began as all Spartan III's had; abducted into the Spartan program at young age, and augmentated at the age of 14 to eventually become a Spartan super-soldier; the only thing to stand in the way of the Covenant and the complete annihilation of the Human race.

Spartan-419 was conscripted into Beta company.

 

Military Life/Performance/Notes :

 

Spartan 419's performance always continues to surprise all - a one spartan army is what many know him as.

 

Spartan-419 has been known to take on suicide missions - insanely large Covenant groups on his own, stating that he works better alone and that teammates only get in his way

 

Spartan-419 is also known to be often clumsy or unlucky, and he very often barely makes it out of his missions alive.

 

Nonetheless, he would eventually go on to gain enough trust from his commanding officers to be deployed as a single unit.

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

Spartan-419 is known to be an incredibly gifted sniper, but he doesn't seem to take advantage of this on the field often enough.

He finds security in bringing a sniper rifle onto the field with him, but only uses it when the situation is dire.

 

He states that it isn't his style to hide away at range.

 

Equipment:

 

MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor

 

M6 Personal Defense Weapon System (Magnum)

 

M9 High-Explosive Dual-Purpose grenade (Frag Grenade)

 

Sniper Rifle System 99 Anti-Matériel (Sniper Rifle)

 

Type-25 Directed Energy Rifle (Plasma Rifle)

 

Active Camo module

 

Personal Combat Knife

 

 

Spartan 419 mainly arms himself with a pistol of the "M6 Magnum" series, his favorite being the M6D for it's raw power and reliability, which many find to be just downright stupid.

 

He also states that it's his way of being unique.

 

While he largely favors the Magnum, he often backpacks a reliable backpack weapon should he ever need to a larger weapons or have to "make a splash".

 

Spartan-419 uses his Combat Knife very often in battle to take down large enemies swiftly and quietly.

 

Spartan-419 has also been noted to take a strong shine to Covenant weaponry, backpacking a Plasma Rifle whenever he can.

 

Spartan 419 is also known to be an incredibly tactical soldier, using anything and everything on the field to his advantage. Other soldiers often watch clips from his helmet cam in the REC room, stating Spartan-419 as nothing else but a pure bad -Yoink!-, even going on to compare him to the Spartan known as John-117.

 

 

Over the course of Spartan-419's military career, he has became very well-known and liked in the corps and thought of extremely highly by officers higher up

Even over the course of his mere 30 missions, he's quickly rising to be a Legend among the UNSC.

 

Or atleast he was.

 

 

On August 18 of 2552, Spartan-419 was dispatched to defend the city of New Alexandria from Covenant forces invading from the Beachhead.

Not only had they been trying to lay seige to the city, but were looking for something deep within in it. . .

 

The Covenant forces had been quelled, but Spartan-419 never returned from this mission, and his whereabouts remain unknown.

 

Spartan-419 is presumed KIA, and has been marked as MIA.

 

 

(While all dead spartans are marked MIA, he is one of few Spartan to truly be missing in action.)

 

 

Many believe he is still alive out of sheer denial, but his status remains Unknown.

 

Most recent photo of Spartan -419 in combat

[Church]

  On 12/28/2012 at 7:59 AM, Dubstep Kittens said:

• This is the fan fiction for my Spartan III, Spartan-419. I originally created this on Waypoint, but seeing as this should be my new home, I'll post it here. It's actually a really unique story. Recommend to read.
  

Name: -CLASSIFIED-

 

Service #: S-419 (Codename: ScreamingDuck)

 

Group: S-III/ Beta-Company

 

Enlistment Date: XX/XX/2539

 

Location: N/A

 

Gender: Male

 

Birthplace: Earth

 

Birth Date: XX/XX/2532

 

 

 

Early Life and Indoctrination:

 

Spartan-419 began as all Spartan III's had; abducted into the Spartan program at young age, and augmentated at the age of 14 to eventually become a Spartan super-soldier; the only thing to stand in the way of the Covenant and the complete annihilation of the Human race.

Spartan-419 was conscripted into Beta company.

 

Military Life/Performance/Notes :

 

Spartan 419's performance always continues to surprise all - a one spartan army is what many know him as.

 

Spartan-419 has been known to take on suicide missions - insanely large Covenant groups on his own, stating that he works better alone and that teammates only get in his way

 

Spartan-419 is also known to be often clumsy or unlucky, and he very often barely makes it out of his missions alive.

 

Nonetheless, he would eventually go on to gain enough trust from his commanding officers to be deployed as a single unit.

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

Spartan-419 is known to be an incredibly gifted sniper, but he doesn't seem to take advantage of this on the field often enough.

He finds security in bringing a sniper rifle onto the field with him, but only uses it when the situation is dire.

 

He states that it isn't his style to hide away at range.

 

Equipment:

 

MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor

 

M6 Personal Defense Weapon System (Magnum)

 

M9 High-Explosive Dual-Purpose grenade (Frag Grenade)

 

Sniper Rifle System 99 Anti-Matériel (Sniper Rifle)

 

Type-25 Directed Energy Rifle (Plasma Rifle)

 

Active Camo module

 

Personal Combat Knife

 

 

Spartan 419 mainly arms himself with a pistol of the "M6 Magnum" series, his favorite being the M6D for it's raw power and reliability, which many find to be just downright stupid.

 

He also states that it's his way of being unique.

 

While he largely favors the Magnum, he often backpacks a reliable backpack weapon should he ever need to a larger weapons or have to "make a splash".

 

Spartan-419 uses his Combat Knife very often in battle to take down large enemies swiftly and quietly.

 

Spartan-419 has also been noted to take a strong shine to Covenant weaponry, backpacking a Plasma Rifle whenever he can.

 

Spartan 419 is also known to be an incredibly tactical soldier, using anything and everything on the field to his advantage. Other soldiers often watch clips from his helmet cam in the REC room, stating Spartan-419 as nothing else but a pure bad -Yoink!-, even going on to compare him to the Spartan known as John-117.

 

 

Over the course of Spartan-419's military career, he has became very well-known and liked in the corps and thought of extremely highly by officers higher up

Even over the course of his mere 30 missions, he's quickly rising to be a Legend among the UNSC.

 

Or atleast he was.

 

 

On August 18 of 2552, Spartan-419 was dispatched to defend the city of New Alexandria from Covenant forces invading from the Beachhead.

Not only had they been trying to lay seige to the city, but were looking for something deep within in it. . .

 

The Covenant forces had been quelled, but Spartan-419 never returned from this mission, and his whereabouts remain unknown.

 

Spartan-419 is presumed KIA, and has been marked as MIA.

 

 

(While all dead spartans are marked MIA, he is one of few Spartan to truly be missing in action.)

 

 

Many believe he is still alive out of sheer denial, but his status remains Unknown.

 

Most recent photo of Spartan -419 in combat

 

 

Indeed quite good, thanks for bringing it over here. Would you mind making an armor set of what he would look like in H4 and posting it here?

[A71william]

Here's mine:

 

On the first day of Christmas a blue Grunt sent to me:

A sticky grenade on an Elite.

 

On the second day of Christmas a blue Grunt gave to me:

2 fuel rods, 1 drop pod and a Spartan in a pear tree.

 

On the thrid day of Christmmas a green Grunt gave to me:

3 Pelicans, 2 Fusion Coils, 1 DMR and a Warthog in a stream.

 

On the fourth day of Christmas an ugly Grunt gave to me:

4 Hunters, 3 Guilty Spark's, 2 Corvette's and a Marine.

 

Well that sucked...

[The Director]

The following is the list of all currently known SPARTAN-II subjects conscripted in 2517 who graduated the program, and their current status.

 

SPARTAN-005: James - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-006: Jai - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-008: Li - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-010: Naomi - Active as of March 2553.

SPARTAN-023: Daisy - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-029: Joshua - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-030: Vinh - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-034: Samuel - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-039: Isaac - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-042: Douglas - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-043: William - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-044: Anton - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-047: Keiichi - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-051: Kurt - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-052: Jorge - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-058: Linda - Active as of March 2553.

SPARTAN-059: Malcolm - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-062: Maria - Retired.

SPARTAN-069: Solomon - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-079: Arthur - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-087: Kelly - Active as of March 2553

SPARTAN-092: Jerome - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-093: Grace - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-101: Victor - Active as of August 2552.

SPARTAN-104: Frederic - Active as of March 2553

SPARTAN-111: Adriana - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-117: John - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-122: Joseph - Status unknown.

SPARTAN-130: Alice - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-137: Carris - Status unknown.

SPARTAN-141: Cal - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN Designation unknown: Mike - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN-037: Randall - Listed as MIA.

SPARTAN Designation unknown: Sheila - Listed as MIA.

"Beta Red Actual" - Listed as MIA.

"Black-One" - Active as of August 2552.

"Black-Two" - Active as of August 2552.

"Black-Three" - Active as of August 2552.

"Red-Fifteen" - Listed as MIA.

Unnamed Spartan - Listed as MIA.

[SykoWolf]

My Story...well part of it....

 

WARNING THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT AND CENSORED COARSE LANGUAGE IN LINE WITH SITE RULES

------------------------------------------------

I lay on the ground for what seemed like an eternity, but was closer to about three minutes. I could feel the blood trickling down my head and i had a splitting headache. "Probably a concussion" i thought to myself. I didn't know whether i should move or not, but what i did know, was that elites were tougher then humans, so they wouldn't be knocked down for long.

So i slowly climbed to my feet and grabbed my rifle from the ground, raising it to my chest.

I stumbled over to the emergency exit, checking the vitals on my squad along the way.

Dead,all of them were dead, i was the last man standing.

This filled me with dread, but i knew i couldn't slow down, the Elites would be back up in a second and they would be looking for me.

 

I gripped the emergency exit's handle and tugged it down. The door opened with the sound of gears kicking in and metal clashing on metal.

I slowly walked down the emergency stairs to the ground level, and subsequently to the streets.

As i walked into the abandoned street i noticed the devastation the slip space jump had made to the city. Vehicles and people, flung all over the place, some lucky enough to walk away with a few cuts and bruises, some others..........well, they just got killed.

I scanned my surrounding for a warthog, and found my prize slid up against a civilian bus.

I walked over and sat down in the drivers seat, turning the radio on and searching for any radio chatter.

White noise, thats all i heard, until i was just about to give up, then i heard a voice come on the radio.......

​"This is lieutenant Kallen, my men are pinned down in Baygreen plaza at the north west of the city, we need assistance, any UNSC personnel in the area we need assistance"

I picked up my voice and responded.....

"This is Corporal Thomson, im on my way sir"

With that i turned the ignition on and slammed my foot down on the peddle, not even thinking about what i would do when i got there. Oh well i guess i'll soon find out........

 

 

I sped off down the empty street's, just nearly slamming into the s**t that littered the streets. I must have driven for atleast 5 minutes at top speed when i heard a voice shouting. I scanned the area in front of me and just noticed the marine crossing the road in a hurry. I slammed my foot on the break pedal, bringing the vehicle to a halt just in front of the panicked soldier. He ran over and jumped in the passenger seat.

"Get this vehicle F***ing moving now!!!"

Without thinking i slammed my foot on the pedal once more and sped off,just in time to dodge the plasma grenade thrown by the group of angry elites who had been chasing this poor guy for 15 minutes, or so he told me.

"Names Private Matt, whats yours?" , "Corporal Thomson" i stated, and shook his hand.

That was the extent of our conversation as we began to hear the sound of a far of battle raging on.

"****, sounds like trouble" said Matt.

I just nodded and pushed the vehicle to its limit to reach the Lt's position in time.....

 

We turned the corner and the site before us was of a massive firefight between dozens of elites and a few marines, taking cover in the middle of the plaza behind barricades and stone columns. The first thing i noticed was that we were on the enemies side of the plaza. I knew there was only one way to the marines position, so i rammed the vehicle through the enemy.

I struck three grunts,crushing them under the wheels before i aimed the warthog straight for the Zealot in charge.

The vehicle hit the Elite,causing him to go spread over the hood of the warthog. Everything went in slow motion as i watched him roar and aim his plasma rifle at me. Lucky for me we struck the stone column when we did, crushing the Elite up against the column in a pool of its own blood.

What i didn't think of was that i wasn't wearing a seat belt. My head went forward and struck the steering wheel, then.......nothing.....................i blacked out, only to wake up a few minutes later, a medic tending to my wounds.........

He wiped the blood off my forehead before bandaging it up,then he proceeded to stitch up the cut on my arm, and all this while under fire.

He finished off and was about to stand up when he got hit in the face by a Plasma Bolt. He fell to the ground, hard and fast.

I thought he was dead, but he screamed, the sound deafened me, he was in incredible pain, i didnt know what to do.

He apparently did though, he gripped his magnum and brought it to his head, and pulled the trigger............

I sat there, shocked by what i had just seen and covered in the blood that sprayed from the exit wound.

"Get up now!" i turned to my right to see another marine yelling at me to get up, so i grabbed the medics rifle and ran behind a low cover, getting ready to kill those sons of bi**hes.

 

I slid up out of cover and took aim at the nearest elite, opening fire as i got the rifle steady. The barrage of shots ricocheted of his armour, howver, i was lucky he was only a minor, his shields went down and the remaining 12 shots emptied into his chest, dropping him to the ground in a mess of his own blood.

 

I ducked back down behind the cover just as a group of grunts decided i was to be their target and opened fir on my position.....

They opened fire, with several volleys of plasma striking the cover i was behind. Luckily it was solid concrete, only burns scarred the surface.

 

I released the clip from the Assault rifle and slipped in the next clip. I ducked out of cover again and squeezed the trigger, firing off an entire clip at the grunts location, striking down 4 grunts in a mess of screams and blue blood splatter.

I ducked back into cover, happy i was able to clean up the right flank.

 

"Holy ****, Guys there's a F***ing hunter!" Screamed the Private to my left

And sure enough the hulking mess of metal and orange organism was making its way towards us..

It fired its first Fuel Rod Charge at the Privates Location, it hit to his left sending him flying over to my feet.

The sound was almost deafening, and the Private had serious burns on the entire left side of his body....... he was dead.

 

I prepared myself for perhaps my final run...... and stood up.

I sprinted as fast as i could, hearing the sound of the Hunters Fuel Rod Gun Charging up... then i heard the abrupt sound of it firing, and the feel of heat on my back as it passed me by mere inchs hitting the wall to my right.. blasting a huge whole into the structure.

 

"Get over here Corporal, NOW!!' Yelled out a soldier, unseen for the moment.

 

I used all my strength to push myself faster, running right past several other Marines doing the same as i was.

 

I saw the corner up ahead, with another marine yelling at us, it seemed as if he was a Sergeant.

At the last 5 metres i jumped just in time for another explosion to rock the ground behind me....killing the other two marined following me.

I was grabbed by the arm and dragged the last metre around the corner before standing up, ready to either fight...or run.....

[Church]

Great post Syko, can't wait to hear more!

[RedStarRocket91]

No Man Left Behind - a short story by RedStarRocket91
 

Text has been spoilered for your convenience, and the sake of thread length. Warning: extreme tl;dr!

  Reveal hidden contents

I can't breathe.

 

They told us that the newest generation of Mjolnir was the lightest ever created: that once it was powered up we wouldn't even notice it, that it would quickly start to feel like our own bodies, like a part of us, not just some big, bulky exoskeleton.

 

They were telling the truth.

 

I just wish they'd told us what it would feel like when it isn't powered up. What it feels like right now: a metallic coffin of skin.

 

I can't breathe.

 

It's not the first time I've been in a pelican crash. Bird I was riding took a pair of fuel rods to the gut during the Battle of the Ark: tank up on the hill above us didn't even bother turning to finish us off, most likely figured we were dead on impact. The blood, the smoke, the smell of plasma, of burning skin... didn't seem real.

 

It didn't seem real when he showed up, either.

 

You ever see one of them in action? I know a couple of fours, could wrestle an Elite to the ground, shoot the wings off a butterfly's back at a hundred yards, even rip the hatch clean off a Wraith. And it's nothing compared to what he did that day.

 

So there I am, rifle in hand, dragging Connie back through the hatch door and into cover even though it's obvious she's gonna bleed out anyway, firing at the little ones even though I've only got one free hand and no clear line of sight. One of the big ones is standing over the top of them, pulls a 'nade out and primes it, pulls back his arm to throw – and then it's screaming. You ever hear one of those things scream in pain? It's like nothing you've ever heard. He's a blur as he breaks its arm, stabs the grenade into its spine and shoves it to the ground. He leaps clear even before the thing hits the deck, pummels one of the little ones with the end of the laser, swinging it round like it doesn't weigh a thing, and his other hand flips out and breaks the nearest one's neck at the same time.

 

The little ones are running like I've never seen them run before: it's not a moment of panic, of discipline lost, it's the terror of someone who really believes that the devil himself is out hunting for them. The grenade goes off in the spine of the leader: whatever the sims back home tell you, it ain't pretty. Damn thing's just about blown in half by the blast: there's a smell of burnt hair and caramel for a few moments, but he doesn't even turn around to look at the mess he's made. There's another one of the big ones up on the hill, waving a fuel rod gun of his own. He gets a pair of shots off before the Chief reaches him: I throw myself to the ground inside the pelican when those shots miss and slam into the bird's side, collapsing the wing and sending a ripple of raw pain through my body.

 

I don't see what happens to the second big one: by the time I stagger back outside the dropship's bay, still clutching my rifle like there's something I can actually do with it, the Chief's swinging from the back of the Wraith one-handed, literally smashing the back of the carriage off bare-handed.

 

It was that moment I knew I wanted to be a Spartan. You hear the rumours, in the trenches: friend in the bullfrogs told me things about the one standing next to him at the top of that tower in New Alexandria, as I helped him round up a bunch of civvies for evac. Didn't look so special to me: I didn't believe half of what he said, about what happened on the fight up to the top. But seeing the Chief rip apart that plating with his bare hands, having pulled me out of the fire when all hope was lost... yeah. Consider me a convert. If he hadn't been there that day – a tonne of shining green cavalry, charging into the picture at the last moment - I sure as hell wouldn't be here today, either.

 

But today, I'm supposed to be that cavalry.

 

And I can't breathe.

 

From what I can see between the cracks in my visor, the rack of seats along the port side of the pelican has come free from its bolts and trapped me beneath it. Normally, it would be the work of a moment to roll over and cast it off. But today, the armour is working against me. Lightest ever generation or no, this thing is heavy.

 

I can still move my fingers: though it's an effort to do so, the joints there are flexible, and the plating is relatively thin. It's an effort to pull myself forwards, away from the crushing wreckage of the seats, but I'm able to get myself free after a few moments by gripping the tears in the floor plating and pulling myself, inches at a time.

 

It's easier once my torso is clear. I tense every muscle in my body and throw myself to the side, managing to roll over onto my back and get my arms around my head. Moving the rest of my arms is difficult, but not impossible once I'm on my back and can use elbows for leverage: I'm trying to remove my helmet, but I don't have the mobility or strength to do more than loosen the seals and allow the faintest breeze of air in. To a man slowly dying of suffocation, it's ambrosaic. The blood inside the helmet, previously pooling in the basin of the visor, slides back across my face and soaks into my hair, joining the trickles from my nose and ears. I pass out.

 

When I awaken, it's clear that help isn't coming. I need to get out of this on my own: there's no Chief to pull me out of the fire this time.

 

I flex my fingers again, tense my muscles. With a desperate, violent jerk, I throw myself at the handholds at the rear of the pelican's door, grab on, biting my tongue as the weight of the armour tears at my already bruised skin.

 

I can do this.

 

I have to do this.

 

I pull myself free of the last of the wreckage, force myself into a sitting position, feeling for the first time the full weight of the combat skin as I straighten up, trying to avoid being crushed forward by the section sitting at the top of my spine. There's no way I can stand up in this thing.

 

I force myself onto all fours, coughing up another lungful of blood as I do so: it's quickly getting very crowded in here, and I don't know how long it'll take for that reservoir to drain, dripping through the cracks in my visor to the dust between my hands. At the very least, should anyone come, it'll create a nice trail towards where I am.

 

I hope the next person to here is friendly.

 

I don't know how long it takes before the Elites find me. The cycle of days and nights on Requiem isn't something I've gotten used to yet. At any rate, I know that I don't have long to live anyway: it feels like forever since I last had a drink. The wetness on my lips only comes from the fresh blood that dribbles out from them, the rest cracked and dry, peeling off from lack of moisture.

 

I don't hear them approach. The first I know is the kick to the guts that flips me over, knocks me onto my back. This time, I don't have the strength to turn back over: I think that I got this far more through willpower than any residual strength in my muscles.

 

The Elites are cautious: I don't think they've ever seen a Spartan crippled and without power before. They think it's some sort of trick.

 

It takes them a few moments of prodding before they realise that the shock collar around the base of the helmet is indeed inactive: without the active translate software, I can't speak Sangheili, and have no idea what they're saying.

 

There's no mistaking the tone.

 

It's joy.

 

Sadistic joy, to be more precise.

 

My helmet is ripped off with a single sweep of that huge arm, leaving the back of my head to thud into the ground, rattling my neural implant even further. Too weak, nauseous from the fresh pain, I loll to the side, eyes closed, unable to speak to summon a defiant curse.

 

I'm dragged back out of my coma when I hear M'dama. I open my eyes, to see the Elites bowing before another, with a strange symbol on his helmet. He confers briefly with them, harsh alien words tumbling from his mouth as he nods toward me. He turns back to the Phantom behind him as another Elite picks me up, folding me under his arm like a toy. I desperately want to reach out to the grenade on his belt: if only I could put every ounce of my strength into one last throw, I could take him out here and now.

 

It's too much I can't even reach the grenade to detonate it and take this one damn Elite with me, let alone end the war. M'dama steps onto the Phantom and beckons back towards me: though one eyes is closed, caked with blood, my other sees well enough to confirm that it really is him.

 

And suddenly I'm on the ground again, the Elite carrying me lying sprawled beside me, a gaping tear through the side of his head forming a fast-spreading puddle of alien blood, filled with lumps of flesh and chips of bone.

 

I don't see what happens, unable to even turn my head. Next thing I know is that I've been rolled over again, the faceless helmet of a fellow Spartan, clad in blue, staring into my face, the trail end of a Spartan Laser poking out over his left shoulder.

 

“de Marco, over here! We've got a live one!” He turns back to me. “Hang in there buddy, we're getting you out of here, you're gonna be okay.” He turns back. “de Marco, over here, stat! We need a casevac ASAP or we're gonna have another dead Spartan on our hands!”

 

“Alright, good work everyone! Thorne, Madsen, get him back to the dropship, the rest of us will lay down covering fire! Move!”

 

The one with the laser lifts my shoulders and a few moments later I feel my legs rise too. My vision is whiting out: I need to tell them to leave me. The Phantom's engines are still spinning up: M'dama is still here!

 

I try to croak out a warning: leave me here, damn it. Use that laser: killing him is more important than saving me. Put me down and fire that damn thing on your back!

 

A voice comes out of the helmet. “Don't try to speak, we've got you now.”

 

“How long's he been out here?” The voice comes from below my chin: I'm passing out.

 

“Days since the pelican went down. He should be dead. Damn lucky he's alive.”

 

Lucky?

 

No.

 

If we were really lucky I'd be lying dead in the dirt back there, next to the laser-charred corpse of the hinge-head responsible for this war.

 

Now?

 

Now I live to fail another day.

Edited March 20, 2013 by RedStarRocket91
Yay! One thousandth post!

[D-38 Boss]

All right.... I'll give this a shot.

 

​The universe Shrieks,

Silence follows,

A shell of itself,

Void and hollow.

 

The Creators' decided to correct their folly, and the machines power surged.

There was no resistance, and everything crumbled as the fire purged.

 

Eons have passed since the Creators fell,

Now once again, the virus spreads.

So now I sit, waiting in this hell,

Until upon this ring, a Reclaimer treads.

 

"Hmm.... I don't recall recording this. This almost seems akin to... emotion... It must be an error in my memory banks. I mustn't lose focus, for any moment could bring me salvation. This is 138 Adjutant Glory, the Installation is fully functional. I will update in another decade with any changes. so far, no contact."

[тυcкєя]

See this Is why I love you Church.

You always find a way to Involve the community.

I always love to see fan art, or poems etc. nice

post.

 

But, honestly I have nothing

legit about my drawing.

Also Including I am no amazing poem writer.

So I will not show my art work or poems sorry 'yall.

It would have been sexy If I could draw but nawh I cant.

[Sp4rkFloW]

Tears roll down my cheeks as I read your poem D-38 Boss. This brings emotions to my inner being as I have never felt before. Oh god....I told myself I wouldn't do this :')

[D-38 Boss]

  On 5/4/2013 at 4:14 PM, xD Sp4rkFloW x said:

Tears roll down my cheeks as I read your poem D-38 Boss. This brings emotions to my inner being as I have never felt before. Oh god....I told myself I wouldn't do this :')

Uh... Thanks!

[Feegmonster]

._. Well I would post, but Life or Dishonor is a bit crap, and Hyar isn't finished at all yet...