Beep! Beep! Beep!
Inside the towering United Nations Space Command base, alarms suddenly blared.
"Attention. All personnel prepare for Level Two alert. All armed members of the 2nd and 3rd Command Defense Battalions are to assemble at Hangar Platform 7." The electronic voice repeated the mechanical announcement over and over.
Abruptly, the looping broadcast was manually switched to a live transmission. "This is Reach Fleet Command Headquarters. I am UNSC Navy Admiral Parangosky."
"Spartan Operations Division—Silver Team has concluded its negotiation mission on Madrigal and is returning. During the mission, they captured a large number of live Covenant prisoners. Fleet Command hereby orders you to safely recover them. Upon the vessel's landing, lethal force is authorized to eliminate any potential threat."
Walking down the long corridor of the command tower, Halsey heard Admiral Parangosky's words. A fleeting trace of disdain flashed through her eyes before vanishing just as quickly.
Parangosky's phrasing perfectly embodied a certain bureaucratic instinct—glossing over the important parts while lightly shifting the achievements of that so-called "civilian armed group" onto the Spartans.
Halsey knew exactly what she was thinking. Claim the credit. Polish her record.
The Master Chief and Silver Team belonged to the Spartan Operations Division under Halsey's direct leadership, yes—but Admiral Parangosky was her superior.
If it were labeled as the achievement of a "civilian armed group," Parangosky would gain nothing. But if it were framed as the achievement of the Spartans, then at the very least, under her wise leadership, some measure of prestige would inevitably fall into her hands.
Nathaniel's earlier video transmission had clearly mentioned a gift—spoils of war. Unggoy and Kig-Yar captives were one thing, but they had even captured Jiralhanae. No wonder Parangosky was tempted.
After all, in the war against the Covenant, Elites and Jiralhanae had inflicted immense suffering upon humanity.
"Admiral, with all due respect, absorbing them outright is unrealistic."
Following behind Parangosky, Halsey spoke as tactfully as she could. "Allow me to negotiate with them. I will investigate their origins. John has fought alongside them before and shares some rapport. I guarantee there will be no mishaps..."
Parangosky interrupted her without even turning her head.
"Catherine, we appreciate your intelligence. But it must be used appropriately—not abused. This time, you initiated contact with an unknown armed force without informing me in advance. Furthermore, why did my central console not receive the real-time combat record from Master Chief Petty Officer 117? You concealed that information."
As she spoke, Parangosky halted, turned around, and fixed Halsey with a cold, expressionless stare.
"Do not assume that without you, the Spartan Operations Division—or the UNSC—cannot function."
"I have granted you too much authority, Doctor. Do not make this difficult for me."
With that, Parangosky shot her one final frosty glance before continuing toward Hangar Platform 7.
"Move! Move!"
The base erupted into activity at the sound of the broadcast.
Clatter!
"Get moving! Move it! Now!"
A UNSC Defense Force officer, having just donned his combat suit and mechanical exoskeleton, grabbed a compact commander-type live-fire rifle. Sweeping his gaze across the soldiers who had similarly equipped themselves, he shouted, "Move out!"
It was still nighttime. Beneath the dark sky, a stream of personnel flowed along the runway extending hundreds of meters from the composite hangar. The clean, spacious landing platform reflected faint neon glows from the surrounding city.
Aside from the heavy security and the fact that the personnel present were UNSC defense troops rather than celebrities, reporters, or media crews, it was nearly fit for a red-carpet reception.
"Admiral, they've arrived."
As Admiral Parangosky and Dr. Halsey approached to "receive" the incoming craft, the UNSC defense troops parted to form a passageway. An officer stepped forward to report.
"Stay ready. If anything seems off, open fire immediately. Show no mercy," Parangosky ordered coldly.
"Yes, ma'am!"
Vmmmm—!
As UNSC aerospace fighters from the orbital defense platforms roared overhead, another sound—distinct from standard UNSC engines—cut through the air.
To veteran soldiers, distinguishing the subtle differences between friendly and enemy engine signatures was not difficult.
The air began to heat, tinged with a sharp, acrid scent. Halsey looked up to see two massive iron-gray "bricks" thundering across the sky.
They were enormous machines—completely different from the sleek aerospace craft used by the UNSC Navy and Air Force. Their design defied conventional aerodynamics, with thick, angular hulls. A pair of great wings swept backward, and their engines spat orange-blue flames.
Iron-gray overall, accented with touches of gold and silver. On either side of the fuselage, beneath a golden double-headed eagle with outstretched claws, gleamed the Roman numeral "II."
Thunderhawk gunships.
As a multi-role aircraft capable of orbital deployment, gunship support, and light bombing, Thunderhawks allowed Astartes strike forces to launch rapid, deep assaults from Imperial Navy vessels onto virtually any battlefield.
They were not exceptional in any one category. In orbital insertion, they were inferior to dedicated drop pods, assault rams, or transport craft. In close air support, they fell short of specialized tactical gunships. In bombing capacity, they could not compare to naval warships stationed in low orbit.
But they were versatile—practical, reliable, and beloved by frontline Imperial soldiers.
Rumble—
The engines gradually powered down.
Guided by landing crew signals, the two Thunderhawks—bearing the insignia of the Astartes Second Legion, the Retributors—descended, adjusted their angles with swift precision, extended their landing gear, and settled firmly onto the platform.
Hiss—
As the forward hatch opened, a voice rang out.
"Dr. Halsey. Admiral. Silver Team requesting permission to rejoin."
The first to disembark were four Spartans—Master Chief Petty Officer 117, Spartan-134, Spartan-028, and Spartan-125.
"Welcome back, John," Halsey said with a nod and a faint smile.
Technically, addressing Halsey before the admiral violated protocol in terms of rank and position. But Parangosky merely observed the Spartan Operations Division's internal loyalties with cold detachment.
Then—
Thud! Thud! Thud!
A synchronized march thundered across the landing platform like rolling thunder as a squad of Astartes warriors stepped forward in perfect unison.
A low, heavy rumble echoed across the tarmac.
The UNSC Defense Force soldiers gripping their weapons felt their throats go dry. They swallowed hard as the sharp clicks of rounds being chambered rang out one after another.
What were these things—human, or monsters?
Massive shadows swept past them, towering more than half a head taller even than the Spartans. A heavy scent of blood clung to them. Beneath cold skull-faced helms, crimson lenses scanned the crowd, inspiring an instinctive fear.
They had thought the Spartans were already inhuman enough. They had never imagined Dr. Halsey had produced something even more terrifying.
"Hold the line!" a UNSC officer shouted.
Halsey, however, stared blankly at the azure giants disembarking from the Thunderhawks, almost entranced. "They are... magnificent creations," she murmured with genuine admiration.
No remote transmission could compare to seeing them face-to-face.
"They..."
Parangosky tore her gaze away and fixed Halsey with a hard stare. "Halsey, you never told me they were bio-enhanced soldiers. And how could they be? What exactly have you been doing behind our backs all these years?"
Only now was Parangosky seeing true Astartes warriors in person.
Nathaniel had indeed sent a video transmission earlier, but without a frame of reference—and with their surroundings clearly scaled to their physiques—she had never realized that this so-called civilian armed force consisted of augmented supersoldiers.
Their size was unmistakable. It was not merely the armor making them appear larger.
Damn it.
You call this a militia? Since when does a militia possess equipment superior to the central government's own armed forces?
With no additional intelligence to guide her judgment—and given Halsey's long-accumulated notoriety, coupled with the unmistakable familiarity these unknown supersoldiers showed her—Parangosky instinctively directed her suspicions at Halsey.
Was this your doing?
Heavy footsteps approached.
A giant clad in ornate azure power armor descended from the ramp without a helmet. The aura he carried was like Death incarnate.
For an instant, it felt as though the surrounding temperature had dropped several degrees. Whether illusion or reality, no one could tell.
"Your infrastructure is respectable," Nathaniel remarked casually as he stepped down the Thunderhawk's ramp. "Though a bit small-minded..."
He appeared utterly relaxed, as though strolling into his own home rather than the heart of an enemy stronghold.
The landing site was a vast plaza encircled by a beautifully landscaped garden city. Hundreds of personnel had gathered—perhaps more. Several armored vehicles equipped with mounted weapons stood nearby. Most of the troops wore light exoskeleton armor.
At the forefront stood the familiar figure of Dr. Halsey in her white lab coat—and beside her, a middle-aged woman bearing four stars on her insignia.
A high-ranking officer, evidently.
Nathaniel paid no attention to the increasingly dark expression on the older woman's face. Instead, he approached Halsey directly.
He even straightened, placed a hand to his chest, and bowed slightly in an impeccably executed noble salute.
"Dr. Halsey. Our first meeting in person, I believe."
Snap.
Nathaniel rose upright and snapped his fingers.
The Night Lords warriors immediately understood. Together with their comrades disembarking from the second Thunderhawk, they began unloading thick-bottomed cages one after another.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd.
Through the bars, everyone could clearly see the contents.
First came Unggoy and Kig-Yar. Then Yanme'e. And finally—
"ROAR—!"
This time, no one could suppress their reaction. A wave of uncontrollable exclamations surged across the entire plaza.
One could only imagine the expressions of those watching through surveillance screens.
"Jiralhanae..." Halsey murmured. Her gaze shifted from a blood-soaked Jiralhanae infantryman to the final captive, confined alone in its own cage. "And a high-ranking one."
Though humanity had yet to decipher the Covenant's language—did not fully understand their motives, origins, or ultimate objectives—years of warfare had yielded significant progress in identifying and categorizing their military units, particularly Elites and Jiralhanae.
Jiralhanae typically bore brownish-yellow or gray fur. The color often signified age and status. Lower ranks were usually brownish-yellow, while bodyguards and senior commanders bore gray coats.
The specimen before them possessed thick gray skin covered in dull gray-white fur. Fragments of violently torn armor remained embedded in its flesh, tinted a faint lake-blue.
From this, Halsey deduced its rank.
A Brute Captain Ultra.
"Correct," Nathaniel said, patting the cage lightly before finally turning his gaze to Parangosky. "These are the gifts we discussed."
"Madam—how do you find our sincerity?"
Parangosky composed herself swiftly. Seizing the initiative, she replied coolly, "Address me as General. Or Admiral Parangosky. Here, aside from the technician—" she cast a sideways glance at Halsey "—there are only soldiers."
"Oh?"
Nathaniel paused, looking down at her with mild surprise.
Before he could respond—
"Human!" the captive roared. "I am a warrior—not merchandise! Face me in single combat if you dare!"
"And where are the Sangheili? Why were only we brought from your lair? They have sided with you, haven't they? They have betrayed the Covenant!"
"Cowards! The Prophets will not forgive them!"
"Roar—!"
"Apologies. One moment."
BOOM!!
A massive steel-clad fist shot forward with explosive force. The fragile cage shattered instantly under the impact, crushed into flying fragments.
The raging Brute Captain Ultra was hurled bodily through the air. Its nine-foot frame slammed deep into reinforced steel with a thunderous crash. An invisible shockwave erupted outward in a violent burst.
Splurt!
Blood and shredded flesh exploded outward. The heavy roar was cut short, swallowed by silence.
"Single combat?" Nathaniel sneered, brushing the nauseating blood spatter from his arm. "You are nothing but alien filth. You dare?"
"You should be grateful you were delivered as a gift. Otherwise, I would have made you beg for death."
He turned slightly. "Apothecary. See to it that it does not die."
Only after finishing did Nathaniel turn back again, his tone suddenly gentle.
"Our oversight. I apologize for the disturbance."
The speed of his shift in demeanor left both Halsey and Parangosky momentarily stunned. The faint smile on his pale face felt surreal.
Step.
Only then did the crowd react, collectively retreating a step.
Too fast. Their retinas had not even captured the motion.
"Now then—where were we?" Nathaniel said lightly. "Let us continue. We must not allow alien vermin to spoil the occasion."