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Hellraisers by GracefulPanther
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Room by Room
Date: 12 September 2007, 4:49 am
"C'mon you stupid bastard, where's the C12?" whined a disgruntled marine. "It's in my pack somewhere Ramirez, don't get your panties in a twist." replied the other. "Man for all the hell they put us through back in basic, you would think we could keep track of our own equipment." joked Ramirez. "Just keep talking Ramirez, maybe somebody'll start listening to you one of these days." the other marine jested. "Yeah your probably right, lets just hope it's not now, and it's not some ugly-monkey covenant gas-sucker." The other man replied. "Ha, or worse, one of them Elites, that would really suck." Ramirez shot back. "Yeah no shit, but seriously, these apartments are probably all deserted anyway, were still pretty far from the target."
The men were soldiers in the UNSC Marine corps, and part of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers 414th airborne division. The division specialized in behind-enemy-lines engagements, and stealth missions where the rest of the corps would simply be too indiscreet. ODST's were known around the galaxy for their hard-ass mentality, bulging muscles who's prominence was rivaled only by their egos, and their utterly brutal combat performances. These ODST's were not, however, of the same breed as their less tactful brethren. The men of the 414th were not Helljumpers, in fact they were known around the corps as the "Hellraisers", as their missions often caused untold chaos to the enemy. It made sense not to associate them with the Helljumpers completely, as their missions required far more brains but no less brawn than their counterparts. The term "Special Forces" was certainly an underestimation of what they did. They're success rate was second only to the SPARTAN-II program.
Ramirez was a newer member of the 414th, his purely instinctive shooting and uncanny skill with any kind of weapon got him into the outfit. Originally recruited to be a Helljumper, Ramirez had drawn the attention of his superiors early. Most Helljumpers became Helljumpers only after serving some time in the regular corps. Ramirez, however, showed such excellence in his "Military Operations" class in secondary school (as well as his many championships in his shooting clubs) that the marines picked him up right away. If one watched Ramirez in ODST training, they would have thought it was child's play. Always number one in every exercise, he was the model soldier. Gifted in his youth to be the son of a long-distance runner, he began building an endurance that surpassed most adults by the age of eight. When he started middle school, he discovered the weight-room. Ramirez was the tip top physical specimen. A little bit of a hotshot, Ramirez's ego had gotten him in trouble more than a few times. For the most part, however, he accomplished what he put his head to. For him, if only in his own mind, he was capable of anything.
The other man with Ramirez was Sergeant Jacob Branson. He had gone through marine BCT and come out with a hunger unlike that of his peers. Superb leadership abilities and an extremely cool head under fire gained him recognition from the ODST department heads. Branson, unlike Ramirez, was stationed on Reach when it fell. One of the few marines to make it off the surface alive, he resisted evacuation until threatened with court-martial by his superiors.
Looking back, he's not sure why this persuaded him, as his staying would have left him dead anyway, thus the court-marital would have meant nothing. The same superiors who threatened him turned around and rewarded him with a recommendation to the ODST's. His performance and die hard attitude on Reach opened their eyes to his potential and he was quickly shipped off to ODST training.
From there he was involved in six engagements against the covenant (including two ship-boardings and three orbital jumps). Shortly thereafter, he was told to pack his belongings (what few he really had) and ship off to an undisclosed location. This was the big-time, he was given his new stripes and headed for the 414th.
Bako Tadumee had never seen this kind of primitive technology before. Devices such as faucets, flushing toilets, and doors that required a keycard to open. Ever since he and his brothers could remember, their doors recognized them and opened themselves. Their fluids flowed through their ships, able to provide whatever fluid at whatever corridor or compartment necessary. Their waste system was also, of course, far less primitive than these humans relied on. How could they live this way? He could not grasp living in such un-holy conditions.
He ran his hand across the stainless steel panel of the door, tinkered with the lock mechanism, and promptly gave up. Sure he could burn a hole in it with his plasma rifle, but why waste the battery? He could get out of here just as easily as he and his brothers had entered, through the newly wrought passageway formerly known as the kitchen wall. As the main offensive rolled through this part of the city, much of it's housing structures were transformed into nothing more than makeshift sources of shade or concealment.
Tadumee hated this assignment, not only was it inglorious, but it did not give him any chance at promotion. He wanted to fight on the frontlines, and cleanse the galaxy of this scourge known as humanity. He wanted the Great Journey, and this is what he received, the leader of a cleanup detachment following the actual battle. His victorious brothers were far from here, fighting, destroying, and cleansing without him. To say that he was bitter would be a gross understatement.
"Ramirez, what the hell was that!?" whispered Branson. "What'cha talkin' about? I didn't do nothing'!" said Ramirez. "Then something, or someone, is here." he continued. "Keep it down, hand signals only from here on in." Ramirez nodded in agreement and went silent. The two men crept forward down the hall, the place glowed an eerie green from the Night Vision Enhancers in their HUD. The NVE's were not used regularly by the corps, but were a must for the 414th. Even though it was merely approaching dusk, the locations that these men could be in were not always guaranteed to be well lit. This apartment complex had lost power during the battle, and they were currently navigating through what they believed had to be the only hallway in the place that didn't have holes in it somewhere. Not to mention that their stealthy insertion was achieved only by navigating through the city's sewer system.
The men slowly "leapfrogged" their way up the hallway. The noise they had heard, a faint yet heavy footstep, had emanated from one of the doors just ahead. Branson and Ramirez reached the door a few seconds later and each man stacked up on either side of it. Ramirez whispered to Branson over the com in their headsets. "Should we call the rest of em' in?" Branson didn't have to think twice to answer that one. "No, more men means more ways to screw up the situation, we'll take care of it." He reached into one of the pouches on his belt and removed a small round device. The device, no bigger than a grape and flat on one side, had a small wire leading from it's middle and up to Branson's headset. Using the self-adhesive on the device's flat side, the ODST stuck it to the door.
In Branson's HUD, a miniature representation of the room on the other side popped into view. "Good" he said. "The radar's working." Ramirez replied "Sweet, them little guppies are one of the finest damn gadgets we've ever gotten. Patch me in will ya?" Branson put his finger to the side of his headset, "Sure thing, one second." As Ramirez gazed at his HUD, he saw the same computer generated room that Branson was seeing. Both of them saw the problem at the same time. "Aw damn!" said Ramirez. "and I thought it might've just been a rat." What the men were looking at was a small apartment. Judging by the small kitchen, one bathroom, and one tiny bedroom, it was probably a cheap rent. They couldn't care less about the price as their biggest concern was the Elite warrior standing just inside the door, and the Jackal and two Grunts in the kitchen.
"Did you ever find that C12?" asked Ramirez. "Yep, I sure did, these blokes are gonna wish they'd have paid for a higher end apartment." Branson chuckled at himself, quietly of course. "I'll set it up, you get clear in that other doorway, cover me though, they might have a keycard." He continued to chuckle and smile at himself, obviously easily amused by his self-determined "witty" comments. Ramirez wondered if, maybe with no war going on against an alien onslaught, Branson might have tried his hand at stand up comedy. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind as he trained his rifle on the door Branson was rigging.
Ramirez was crouched behind a wall, with his shoulder against the doorframe opposite the hall of where they were rigging the C12. Just in case those Covies in there got curious of what might be in hallway, Branson would need some serious cover, and both would need some serious prayer. He glanced again at his HUD, the elite hadn't moved, he was still standing right where he had been, though he had turned from the door after running his hand along the face of it. He now appeared to be looking toward the kitchen, almost as if he were daydreaming or something. He checked for the Grunts and Jackals again. The Jackal had made it's way to the kitchen and was looking through the cabinets and drawers, he would pick up the occasional utensil, dish, or glass and examine it with his freakish looking orange eyes. Holding the item up to one eye, then the other, cocking his head back and forth like birds do. Ramirez stifled a laugh as he noticed that the Grunts had made their way from the kitchen to the bedroom. They were completely preoccupied with rip-roaring laughter as they jumped up and down on the bed. Ramirez just had to share this moment. "Branson, man are you seeing this stuff?" Branson chimed in "Roger that, got to be the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. By the way, I'm almost done."
Two minutes later Branson retreated to the other door and took up position on the opposite side of Ramirez. He reached into a pouch and returned the guppy to it. The HUDs in their headsets looped the last ten seconds of "footage" the guppy had recorded, so as to continue giving them a frame of reference after it was deactivated. Both men smiled at each other every time one of the Grunts fell off the twin size bed. Ramirez looked at Branson, "Ready when you are pal."
"Come here you!" ordered Tadumee. The Jackal turned it's goofy looking head to look at the Elite. "Yes you, come to me." The alien sauntered over to it's leader and stood there, waiting for further orders. "Have you discovered anything useful, anything the Prophets can benefit from?" The Jackal looked around and slowly shook it's head, no. "Curses, I want to fight, there is nothing here but corpses and rot." Tadumee dismissed the Jackal, who went right back to the kitchen and back to it's childlike exploring. Tadumee had just about had it with this, if he had to, he would go to the prophets themselves and beg them at their feet for an opportunity to fight. He would do anything to replace this blue armor with a set of gold, or even red armor if he could. He turned to the door and looked at it's shiny surface, he could see his reflection, his bright blue armor. He was proud of what he did, serving the holy ones, yet he wanted more.
BOOM! A deafening metallic explosion ripped through the room. It stunned all the covenant inside the apartment and blew Tadumee himself back into the wall while severing his right arm. The two Grunts came bumbling from the bedroom and looked around the apartment, the door was lying on the floor inside the room, with a helmet sized hole in the middle of it's steel face. The Jackal turned from the kitchen to see what had happened as he activated the shield on his left arm. The three subordinate covenant converged on their leader but stopped suddenly as he raised his remaining hand in an order to halt. "Quiet, remain quiet, I don't know where they are." he said.
The Grunts stared in disbelief that Tadumee was still alive, even conscious. His severed arm was nowhere to be found and his own purple blood was spattered on the wall that he himself was propped up against. As he lay his back on the wall behind him, more blood was running down his armor (what was still on his body) and pooling near his hind end. He breathed raggedly, and glanced over at his men, while he reached down toward his waist. His fingers found and curled around a plasma grenade.
"Stay put Ramirez." said Branson. "Stay here, maybe they'll come to the doorway, just give em' a second." Ramirez nodded as he continued to look down his sights. "Branson, I've got a shot at that Elite, he's wounded." Branson looked at Ramirez and moved over behind him and took up a firing position over his buddy's shoulder. "I know" he said. "Leave him there, let them come to him." Ramirez again nodded, and continued to watch the suffering Elite. As he watched, the alien reached down, Ramirez saw what he was doing and couldn't let it happen, he had to make a decision. PFFFFT! Ramirez's weapon let out a silenced burst of three 7.62mm rounds that all hit within a quarter of an inch of each other…right in the Elite's forehead. The alien's helmet cracked in half as blood and bits of skull decorated the already bloody wall behind it. Blood poured around the edges of the wound, carrying bits of black skin with it as the Elite slumped forward into it's own lap. "Sorry Branson, he was reaching for a-" "I know Ramirez, that's fine. Keep me covered, I'm gonna get a closer look."
Branson crept up to the now open doorway that he had just blown away and peeked around the corner a little. All he could see from right here was the dead Elite and the door on the ground. He also took notice of the scorch marks and gouges in the hardwood floor. Good thing it was a cheap apartment, he thought to himself. He executed a perfect "SWAT turn" and found himself standing on the opposite wall, now on the left side of the door. He didn't peek out, for he knew what was coming, hopefully Ramirez got the idea. Sure enough, not a half a second after Branson moved, plasma fire burned it's way into the hallway's wall behind him. The aliens didn't have a shot at him, but they saw him move. He didn't care, because now Ramirez could see where they were shooting from.
Ramirez, who did get the idea and was now on the right side of the doorway, pulled a grenade from his belt and jerked the pin out in one smooth motion. He held the spoon, so as to keep the frag from going off in his hand. Now the UNSC regular marines didn't use frags with spoons anymore, it was more or less a button that primed the thing, and then you threw it. The 414th, however, insisted on using the old-fashioned grenades so that they could hold the frag in their hand ready to throw.
Ramirez reached down with his left hand and lobbed the grenade at a forty-five degree angle toward the right side of the room. Just as he wanted, it hit on top of the kitchen counter and rolled off to hit the floor on the other side. The Jackal and one of the Grunts panicked and tried to run away, but the bumbling Grunt ran smack into the Jackal, sending them both to the floor…right on top of the grenade. Another resounding explosion ravaged the once decent-looking apartment. This one sent utensils flying all about the room and tore out the island counter completely. Blood and bone stuck to the ceiling right above the spot that the two aliens were standing.
The two marines burst through the open doorway with their weapons at the ready. One of the men swept left, while the other swept right. Ramirez, on the left, saw only the dead Elite and the door while Branson saw the dislodged counter and the blood stained ceiling. Just past the counter where the latest explosion took place, was a short hall back to the restroom (on the right) and the bedroom (on the left). Ramirez took the left and Branson took the right. Ramirez entered the bedroom only to find that the last Grunt wasn't there, he quickly checked the closet and under the bed, then hurried out of the room to assist Branson.
He was greeted by the man himself as he stepped out of the room, Branson stood there with his weapon pointed down, and was displaying some sort of twisted fluorescent blue paintjob on his visor and vest. "What the hell did you do to him?" Ramirez asked, trying not to laugh at his partner. Branson, not looking the least bit amused replied shortly. "I was looking in the Loo and the little bastard popped out from behind the shower curtain as I was standing right next to it. So I swung my rifle about, practically shoving it down his little pipe-faced throat and pulled the trigger." Ramirez snorted. "Alright, so he scared you, that's what you're trying to say?" Branson smiled sheepishly through the gore on his face. "Yes, he gave me a little bit of a fright, but nothing I couldn't deal with you see." Ramirez slapped him on the shoulder. "Of course not bro, you're the man!"
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