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Spartans Forever: Part III
Posted By: Infection Form 143<aprilmikechris@aol.com>
Date: 19 August 2006, 8:43 am
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His mind was spiraling into the abyss. He didn't, no, couldn't realize why he felt the way he did, but he did feel death, nonetheless. He tried to move, but couldn't. He could feel the damp, firm earth beneath his body; but he couldn't se it. Spartan 129, Daniel Tomahawk, had been infected by the Flood parasite.
He heard muffled voices. One was deep, and raspy. The other seemed to stutter, and had a higher pitch. They made strange comments like: "Have you found it yet?" Or "Crap, my pliers broke." He tried to speak to them, but found that yet another one of his humanly functions had stopped working.
Without warning, His eyes flashed open, and some kind of medical instrument was plunged into his spine. "Aaaaarrrggghhh!" He shrieked. He craned his neck, and looked back. Private Holmes was busy trying to scoop something spongy out of Dan's armor, while Spartan 117, the Master Chief, stood behind him, with his flashlight on the surgery taking place.
"Holmes?" Asked Tomahawk in a slightly garbled and woozy voice.
"Oh, you're awake?" Asked Holmes, sounding wary. "I think you might just want to pass out again."
"Why?"
"Because this is gonna hurt like hell."
"May I ask why my back has been ripped open?" Asked Tomahawk, a bit more irritable now than before.
"Chief, could you hold him down, please?"
"Sure." A stiff voice answered. A hand pressed against Tomahawk's neck, and pressed it to the floor.
"You've been infected by the Flood parasite. And it's a damn good thing you're a Spartan, or all this operating on your spine would have killed you by now." He ripped the bulbous infection form from Daniel's spine, which popped after being squeezed by Holmes.
"JESUS CHRIST! How did that thing get inside me?"
"You turned your back on that swarm before the shutters closed." Said the Chief, removing his hand from Tomahawk.
Holmes began to re-attach Tomahawk's spinal plate to the MjOLNIR mark II armor. "You were knocked out for about an hour; we almost left you for dead." Said the Chief.
"Oh," said Tomahawk. "That's really comforting."
"What? He said 'almost' it's not like we did." Holmes said with the classic stutter.
The ground beneath Spartan 129 was soft, yet wet. Coarse, yet it felt comfortable. Or was it the morphine that made it feel comfortable? Who cares? He thought, and never addressed the topic again.
As he stood onto his feet, he surveyed his surrounding environment, or at least he tried to. The only thing he could see was the Master Chief and Holmes. Although he smelt a putrid odor, and he heard water dripping. The scenario was almost menacing. His threat indicator was far from blank.
"While Holmes was fixing you up, I took a chance to look around." Said 117, "I found power boxes down the corridor to the left, but the power cells are bone dry."
"Did you manage to find an exit?"
"No."
"Dammit." Said both Tomahawk and Holmes in unison.
"So, what now?" Asked Holmes nervously.
"Look at our threat indicators, and move away from the enemies." Said the Chief.
And they did. They made a three-man defense chain, Holmes was between the two Spartans, and was armed with an assault rifle. Both Spartans wielded shotguns, and took turns on flashlight duty, because of the long recharge times. The maze of hallways seemed to cause the navigation points on Tomahawk's visor jump.
The trio were constantly on edge, and uneasy about their surroundings. They would encounter a stray Flood or two, but nothing to serious. When they managed to navigate their way out of the darkness, guess what they found? More darkness. Although stray Covenant lamps left faint purple illumination along the bare corridor, navigation was still hell. Some parts of the halls were slicked with blood. There were times when the stench grew so bad, Tomahawk gagged.
"Stop." Said the Chief.
"Why?" asked Holmes, who now defended the back.
"Quiet." He paused. "You hear that?"
"What?" asked Holmes. That's when Tomahawk heard it: the groan of a hoard.
"Run." Said John. He began to move. Tomahawk and Holmes were planted to where they stood. The chief screamed "RUN!" Tomahawk began to sprint blindly behind the Chief.
"Why are we running?" He shouted. "I thought the flood were slow!"
"Whoever said that is a DUMBASS!!"
Tomahawk looked back. Holmes was sprinting slower than the Spartans, but he was keeping up without any problems. But Holmes lost his balance, and slipped on the damp floor.
"Chief, wait!" The chief looked back, and ran toward Holmes. As soon as they were about four feet from the marine, a grey tentacle emerged from the darkness, and grabbed Holmes' leg.
"NO!" Tomahawk leapt forward, and grabbed Holmes by his wrists. "HOLD ON!"
Holmes' wrists slipped from Tomahawk's grasp, and his screams echoed off the blank walls.
"Tomahawk, MOVE!" The Spartan was paralyzed; the Chief grabbed him, and flung him over his shoulder.
All proceedings after that were memorized as this:
The stench of the Flood getting closer, tentacles whipping at his helmet, and a glare. The next thing after that was emerging into the outskirts of the city, and the sight of thousands of cruisers locked in combat eerily looming spectacularly overhead.
Okay readers, if you want to post a reply or criticism to this story, please do so. If you found this story to be less than a 6/10, please keep in mind that I wrote it at 1:00 AM, and I was tired. If you liked it, thank you.
Look for the continuation of Tomahawk's journey in Mysteries of the Untold SPARTANs.
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