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"The Josh witch lived happily ever after..."
Sleepy...
So very tired, so warm...
Soft chair...
"Happy, happy witch."
She would slither about in that soft leather chair, with massage function, a cold one in her right hand with some Soundgarden music... Yeah.
This was such a cozy place, she couldn't see all too well but hey she had a beer, and some kick-ass music and-

"Reporting as ordered ma'am!"

Stop shouting!

Uh, Ma'am?

SHUT UP... SHUT UP!

Captain!

Laura snapped out of her daydream with a muffled cry, eyes flying open in an instant. "Ah, yes lieutenant." She managed to make this sound at least half-professional. "Take you station seaman."
Had the biggest headache, long night.
What had she been doing? Other than listening to the base half the night when all the people stationed there played their favorite song, Laura couldn't remember much, what a big hangover.
Last time she'd had one of those was two months ago, as a matter of fact she knew first hand that braving a 'chunk spree' was pretty dangerous.

Usually such kind of behavior, (drinking, fooling around with music, sleeping at your station) was frowned upon, and those responsible for such acts would be punished, yet this wasn't your standard issue military branch, an those it employed were not your standard issue soldiers. Seemingly they were more like pirates or rogues than trained pilots or marines; but when push came to shove they were the best the UNSC had to offer.

Officers were trained to perfection, marines and ODST could survive anything provided they had the right materials, and their training had been more thorough than a good 86% of the regular armed forces.
A squad of Marine Force Recon could sweep across an open field in the middle of winter on the sunniest day of the year and still remain hidden.
Flights of fighters could initiate bombing runs on miles of strips of land covered in SAM sites and still come out of the fray unscathed, such was the skill of those stationed at ONI facility 04.

Slipping her position, it could easily seen how tired Laura looked, her eyes were baggy, and her usual slump was more pronounced, amazingly enough though she retained her looks, that same flawless figure.

Momentarily her eyes smoothed over the officer on duty, Alec Duran.
His was a decent figure, not one that models would kill for but decent enough to warrant say; payment of one million credits to achieve.
Slim build, still muscular, plain brown hair and strange gray eyes, Strange too that he'd be about, he was a light sleeper though, and had a lot of energy.

For a second Laura thought he was blushing or something, but it disappeared quick enough to warrant a second guess.
It wasn't like she had any sort or romantic interest in him, though a few of the female staff did; most attention he would get would be 'friend', though not even that since the guy was under her command. Love wasn't a good idea in this profession.
Well not with ONI anyway, marines maybe, but not ONI.
Once some guy had tried, his dearly beloved was found the next day, her wrists cut; six bullets and the word "S.O.F.O.N.I" carved into her chest.

She knew him too; really well, Laura was in fact a Cadet at the time; he would frequent the bar where she and her squad mates hung out; taking a scotch/fruit-punch combo at the counter.
Following his wife's death he walked to that very same polished pine surface in full dress uniform, shoved an M6D in his mouth and blew his brains out the back of his skull.
Obviously captain Trenton never drank there again, neither did her friends.


Rising from her now uncomfortable seat, she worked the kinks from her neck and back, grasping her forehead with her left hand.
Bloody throbbing was getting worse.

"Alec," She croaked. "Remain at your station, I'm going to go freshen up."
He nodded in confirmation, obviously tense but otherwise unaffected. He swept his hand across some data character and began to read... something.

"My eyes are blurry?"
Laura didn't like that sensation. Blurry eyes meant sickness or glasses, neither of which sounded too appealing at the moment.
She would grope her way to the door, slowly but deliberately, and move for that ever so famed ladies room.

So bright, walls pained white, lines of sinks in the far corner, a cabinet near the door and six stalls opposite. Laura moved directly for the mirror, which of course wasn't blurry as she got closer. Her face was still without flaw; well there was flaw if you counted the barely noticeable 'circles under the eyes,' however those weren't permanent.

Of this she was glad, looks counted for a lot in this world. But her head hurt a lot, it seemed like someone had just run over it five times with a transport truck.
The door flew open then, admitting a middle-aged woman that was surprisingly even more breathtaking that Laura herself, a natural blonde with an aura shouting 'love slave'.
Twin blue eyes took in the room at once, softly of course, with a gentle ease.

"Morning Cap'." Her voice was Texan in nature, soft and mild though. This newcomer slithered her gaze over Laura before frowning. "Another long night?"
"Yeah, you happen to have any Tylenol? This headache I got is killing me."
The woman was clad in a loose fitting BDU suited for jungle warfare.
"Sure thing Laura'." She unbuttoned a small pouch in her tactical vest and handed her superior a white plastic jar.

Wasting no time in her task, the Captain poured out two tablets swallowed them both, drinking the water straight from the silver tap.
"Thanks Private."
"That's Helen to you miss."
Laura nodded. "Fair enough Private."
Helen smacked her head, then slipped into a stall and locked the door.

Captain Trenton paced off rather catlike, despite the throbbing, yet steadily diminishing pain in her skull. A few minutes of break wouldn't hurt. Most notably the Soda machine.
It was kind of large, bearing "Vanilla 344G" about its shining surface.

Hobbs and company were there; sitting at a table slurping of some soup and sipping whatever they bought from the machine.
"What's up little L? Come on, have seat!"
She obeyed of course, after she'd gotten her own drink, an 'Orbital Hellfire' that tasted remotely like grapes, spices and milk, resting herself across from Hobbs, who sat on Fergus' right.

"Little Captain, what's up!" Jacobs rubbed her head, forcing her hair to twist at odd angles; she poked him in retaliation.
These people weren't ONI, they were ONI Peregrines, classified as a separate branch and therefore immune to executions of honor, basically what happened to that guy's wife. She could hang with them.
"Don't you poke me." He exulted, pulling her hair.
It took a few seconds but-
"Ouch, I give!"
Everyone laughed. "I thought you would."
She gave them an evil look. "You're picking on me just because I'm the only girl that would dare sit near such an ugly face!"
Hobbs burst into an uncontrolled fit of laughter.
"Ouch."

"Boo-woo Jacobs." She arose, snatching up her soda.
"Not so fast little L." It was more a controlled protest than anything else; none of them were the possessive grabby type, thank the gods for that.
She shook her head and reluctantly sat again, eyeing Hobbs. "What is it?"
"Ok well, you would not believe this, we had a contact we didn't log yesterday! We were in the 'Forbidden Zone' on patrol duty, when we came across what looked like a news crew. When we circled around for another pass we confirmed it! Anyway, we made left and fired off into the cliff wall and -
He started to laugh hysterically.
"We fired off a missile and crushed their van under an avalanche!"
She grimaced. Bad protocol, to bend it was one thing but to totally break it was quite another. "Hobbs!" She accused sternly, hearing murmurs of uh-oh all around the general vicinity.
Laura was notorious for having an anger streak almost as bad as her father's.

"I expect that logged and accounted for in a maximum of ten minutes! No slack, you know what you're supposed to do, stop acting like a seven-year cocky dip-shit and carry yourself more like the pilot you wish you were!"

Jacobs lowered his eyes, feeling the insult deeply; saying that was like telling a marine his honor was worth shit on a stick and actually having that same marine believe it. Or at least that's what Laura thought; maybe marines didn't even believe in that. She was truthfully quite stupid on that subject...
And made no claims whatsoever to its truthfulness.

"Sorry Hobbs," She stated solemnly.
All he could do was offer a nod in return, his eyes full of rage, his lips thin lines.

She continued despite the obvious anger of those assembled.
"This sort of irrational behavior will not be tolerated Hobbs, rules can be bent, but they cannot be broken." Laura was indeed spouting off a bold statement, she knew that, because she had broken almost every rule in the book on any thinkable occasion and gotten away with it. Still...
These pilots had to be taught a lesson in the chain of command; you fail your job, the ONI branch fails you.
That was the way it was.


"Yes ma'am but I -

Laura was about to continue the conversation when Hobbs just dropped dead silent. Why would he do that?
Then it hit her, Cole.

"Captain could I speak with you a moment?" She stood. "Yes sir."
"In private."
"Of course sir."
She followed her father for a time as he led her to his office, seemingly enraged judging by the sound of his breath.

Cole would sit in his high-backed chair and issue her to sit in the one opposite, without delay he continued.
"I don't appreciate you playing little giggle porn star with the troops Captain."
What was he getting at? He was always like this! Always bitching at her for some reason or another, she couldn't remember a time when he actually -

"This behavior will not be allowed in this branch miss Trenton, is that -

"Clear? All you're ever concerned about is military protocol!"
He frowned. "Captain you are out of line."
"Am I? Do you even know the meaning of the word friendship dad?"
He stood, gaining a higher vantage point, this was often used in intimidating new recruits, as one would often feel vulnerable when they were forced to sit and a figure of greater power stand.

"Captain your blatant disregard for the chain of command has not gone unnoticed, you call on your vaunted friendship even though article ONI 932 strictly forbids it." His tone was matter of fact. "You are lucky the first punishment is a mere warning."

Or so you think. Laura chuckled inwardly

"Little prissy behavior cannot find room in this military, think back on your family, did any of them ever disobey orders the way you have?"
She turned from docile swan to enraged bull in moments, her cheeks a light shade of red.
"What would you know of family?" She shrieked, rising too to her feet. "You're so stuck up in politics you've already forgotten the meaning love and friendship! Did you even notice you have two wonderful daughters, myself not included, too, a wife? No, how could you when as the stuck up bastard you are, are stuck up in your office sitting on your fat ass while people die for you?"

That had to have made a mark. Cole reacted quite strongly, she wasn't afraid, no she was too angry for that, but she did have the slightest thread of doubt.
"You Captain, are hereby confined to your quarters until further notice!" His face was much like her own; now only more... angry.
Of course she was female and he was male, she possessed a delicate beauty that he did not but his face had the same look, not the same features.

"An ODST is waiting to escort you there." Said he. "You are dismissed!"
Her face grew tight. "Yes sir."
Oh god... What had she gotten' herself into? Laura didn't like this one. Obviously he'd planned the whole ordeal from the start, otherwise there would have been no ODST to shepherd her away.
What a fool she was! Thinking to challenge his authority with such an outburst. But she wasn't one to dwell on such things for long it had no benefit. So she just accepted it.

Saluting, backing off and turning heel, she was out of the room in moments, and promptly pressed against the wall by an ODST with a height of about 7'0.
"Remain calm Captain, and I wont have to use force."

She complied; there was no other choice she had.
With an uneasy aura he patted her down, possibly enjoying it though he gave no indication of it, he was too much a professional for that.
"I'm going to have to ask you to surrender your sidearm."
She gave it to him, hesitant at first then with more confidence. She was in good hands; she wouldn't do anything stupid.
His hand shot out in that instant and pressed hard against her stomach, Laura grunted, though this was little more than a sharp exhale of air.
The ODST let his hand fall once again on her short coat; the appendage slipping between the small silver buttons feeling the cool flesh beneath, then drew forth a small titanium combat knife. He waved it in front of her face suggestively.
She shrugged.

I forgot about that one.... Her mind insisted stupidly.

"Hands behind your back please."
She set her hands in such a position and winced as she felt the cold steel of handcuffs close about her wrists. Grudgingly she trudged before him, occasionally pushed if she slowed pace.
They passed Hobbs and his wing, still sitting at that very same table. He smirked in amusement; his face beat red, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a laugh.
The ODST glanced at him and narrowed his eyes. In one hand he held Laura of course, but in the other, away from the eyes of any but Hobbs, he flipped her combat knife so the light glinted off it in an eerie manner.
The color drained from Hobbs' face at once.

ODST were renowned for their ability to scare battle hardened veterans shitless enough to soil themselves, the epitome of what a true killer really was. Only the select few had what it took to brave that kind of training, nothing would phase these guys.

Once they arrived at her quarters, the ODST unlocked the cuffs and diverted her to the floor.
"Thanks." She managed to say whilst constantly holding in a dull throb in both her kneecaps and skull.
"No prob. Little L."

Honestly Laura didn't know whether everyone on the base knew her or not, but it sure as hell seemed like it, because whenever she was around their moods always seemed to lighten up just that much, like she was an angel or something. If she'd heard it from anyone else she would have laughed, but hey... No, that was just fairytale dreaming. Although that would be cool if it wasn't.

He departed without any further words, sliding though the door with one reverberating thud as she heard the mechanism lock. The lights flicked on and she made her way to that single object of salvation, her soft, cozy bed. None of the regulars enjoyed what the officers did...



Laura woke in a cold sweat, her clothes soaked with the stuff, her eyes fearful and her breathing quick; full of terror.
It was happening again, that dream where someone looking exactly like she did but, much more attractive and several years younger. About seventeen, she figured.

"Lights."
They snapped on at once, obedient always. Her quarters were pretty barren, save for her bed, a solid oak desk, a shelf, a nightstand and a closet, neat and tidy. This was as good as it got for her, unless of course she was promoted, which was unlikely.

Atop her desk rested a... desk lamp and a log book, gracing the nightstand was a plain gray bedside lamp and a book titled "Mathematics/Language for Dummies"; she was never very good with numbers but she scraped by, the language aspect was just there for reference.
Obviously in the cabinet were the few garments she had, consisting of a standard marine BDU, two naval officer uniforms, three sets of civilian clothing, two pairs of black combat boots, three pairs of dress shoes, and a few miscellaneous... things.

Ghosts and echoes, kind of funny really, heh, heh. Actually she remembered a book titled with that one time, she burned it though, Cole had given it to her in apology for intentionally throwing her favorite doll in a sewer when she was little. Her memories were pretty vague.

Shaking her head, she relieved some of the 'vertigo' that seemed to be pounding on it. She knew she wasn't that high off the ground but for some reason she always had the feeling after waking up.
Laura slipped the covers from her person, and felt the cold sting of the titanium floor on her bare feet. She really ought to have bought some sort of carpet, but was never in down anyway.

Plodding across the floor she realized her uniform was gone. She was clad in a standard issue "long-john" style shirt and shorts. For a few seconds she paused, reluctant, afraid at first, but came to the conclusion that she'd probably torn it off before she started to sleep.
When she noticed the garment in a heap on the floor near her bed, she nodded. That was satisfying enough, wasn't like someone could have taken her clothes off without waking her up.

Laura moved into the rest room joining with her room. Small as it was it housed a shower stall and the like, though all in close proximity to each other.
Slipping from those clammy underclothes she wore and stepping into the show, she shut the door and turned the "hot" dial.
Heating was instantaneous, providing maximum comfort to its user. Immediately Laura began washing her silken hair, splitting it into two parts and rubbing them. Momentarily she realized her hands moved to the center, and felt the dreadful, deep scar there.
That one was from training.

Pilots of all kinds were trained in capitol ship evacuation, through this dreadful course you had to make your way to an escape pod in an actual battleship currently in service being bombarded by two of its brethren and shot up by a squadron of longswords one-hundred strong.
If you weren't careful the pilots had a field day and shot missiles galore at your way to safety, vaporizing any occupants within.
Actual combat training was an understatement. Slaughter was more or less the word to use; that was why the UNSC had such resilient soldiers.
Needless to say Laura was knocked off balance when the ship suddenly threw itself diagonally to avoid a MAC shot, it still hit but it only skinned the ship and severed three decks in half, killing the crew and trainees currently located there.

This scar had been the price for her; she slammed hard into a crate full of MA5B Shredder rounds and nearly split her skull in half, had she been wearing a helmet she would have broken her neck.
Once her squad had come to the rescue, they lifted her and rushed her steadily weaning body to a pod, taped her up as best they could and floored it back to the training camp.

When she was finished with the shower she stepped out and fogged off the mirror, gazing at her body before wrapping a towel about herself and walking back to sit in a chair provided courtesy of ONI.
For a few minutes she just sat there reading a paper on physics, but grew bored and stood just as the door flew open to admit the ODST who'd brought her here earlier, complete with this... big tray of food.

"Oh uh..." He was nervous, she guessed he didn't know how to deal with this.
"Sorry Ma'am I didn't realize you were uh...." He turned to the door and let it close in his face.
She smiled from ear to ear. They were the best friends you could ever have.
"Its fine; nothing you haven't seen before." She brushed a clump of hair from her eyes. "Though I'd appreciate it if you'd knock."
He turned; emitting no emotions of displeasure, what human man could when in the sight of Laura wrapped only in a towel? He seemed rather amused.

She liked the attention, of course Laura would never admit it but she did, being a spontaneous creature born as a dragon in Covenant mythology. For some reason she found their way of life intriguing, more so than any dull earth-born zodiac or religion, and studied it whenever she could.

"Give me a minute." She moved to the cabinet, snatched up a set of 'civie' clothes and moved into the rest room.
"Sure thing." He called.
She let the towel fall after she closed the door, and took a gander at the stuff she grabbed. Wow, a black halter-top and some cut-off green 'jean shorts,' not the most proper of things, still, good enough.
Pulling them on hurriedly Laura headed back out to greet her guest.

"Since you're not leaving I assume you have something to say?"
He shook his head. "I was supposed to keep you company but I figured that could wait till' after the inter-branch sparring matches."
Laura swore.
"How considerate of the old man, I wanted to see those."

Monthly each branch of the ONI garrison elected a boxer to champion their cause for the prize of 20000 credits to the winning team, matches would take place weekly from 1:00am to 12:00pm nonstop, this was where rivalries could be solved without mass bloodshed.
Before each cycle, champions trained themselves. These matches were furious and often took a lot of energy; thus any action against the enemy teams before then would disqualify the aggressor if the plans were found out.
During the cycles however bribes and such were not unheard of, once or twice there'd been tag-team matches, which were pretty cool to watch.

Laura could still remember the rosters, word for word; she played them out in her mind as she recalled seeing them.

Note: Three Divisions people! Keep it clean I don't want any more slip-ups this time; last month we had to call in the MP.
-Preston Cole

ROSTER

Peregrines:

Team Leader: Kevin Jacobs
Trainer: Daniel Hobbs
Boxer 1: Chris Yevins
Boxer 2: Jeremy Forrest
Lackey 1: Orin Fergus
Lackey 2: Tommy Locks
Lackey 3: Wendel Alabaster

Creeps

Team Leader: Braud Vasta
Trainer: Percy Wazzwell
Boxer 1: Sandy Adams
Boxer 2: Ashley Unmetts
Lackey 1: Eric Lonnie
Lackey 2: Nolan Kipps
Lackey 3: Adam Bluemoore

FAFNIR Crew

Team Leader: Laura Trenton
Trainer: Richard Dorchen
Boxer 1: Greg Quizmoss
Boxer 2: Y'moreen Hellitops
Lackey 1: Alec Duran
Lackey 2: Zosma Lauren
Lackey 3: Uvriel Ishda


The Peregrines were the ONI pilots stationed at the base, a rowdy lot, but they held your back and were actually quite fun to hang out with if you weren't on their bad side. Lead by the very likable Jacobs, whom one could often turn to if they had something on their mind; the falcons had a distinct advantage mind wise.
They didn't bring in strength but they were sure as hell patient, and liked to take down the opposing team by sabotage and other methods of mechanical confusion.

Following them were the Creeps, the Marine/ODST combo, obviously the most well-rounded team, bringing both strength and intelligence into the ring, these guys were by reputation and nature, natural killers, a few times there had been accidental injuries.
Once an ODST was fighting a pilot, the ODST struck the guy in the temple with a mild right hood and knocked him flat, later it was discovered the guy on the receiving end had permanent brain damage and was forced to take honorable discharge from the core.


To top them all off, ever since the new top secret project was underway, her future crew had seen fit to make a team their own.
Arguably they had the best leadership.
Yours truly. Laura remarked dryly.
Such a position of value wasn't self-proclaimed either, people looked up to her, and they had said so. What the crew of the FAFNIR lacked in strength or strategy they made of for in their ideals, ethics and spirit. Consisting of several characters from the fool to the chiseled warrior, they were arguably a ragtag, but still tightly knit group
Their leadership, motivation, and stubborn refusal to surrender seemed to be their strongest point.

The ODST coughed in annoyance. "You always see those things little L, oh and by the way I don't have to go around calling you captain seeing as how you're out of uniform without official documentation."
He smiled. "Civ."
Laura frowned, changing the subject.
"Whatever, you heard anything from my dad? Seemed pretty pissed off last we met, I'm still the Captain right?"

The FAFNIR was almost ready, and through some grueling 'auditions' for CO of the new prototype, likely the only prototype, She'd come out on top of over fifty selected candidates. A capable ship needed a capable captain. Without her father pulling any strings she won through, managing to best every other choice in almost every category save textbook strategy, which she often invented as she went along.
Unpredictable was the best way, Laura thought.

"As far as I know, yeah."
She nodded her satisfaction, and smiled. "Go ahead and set it over on the desk there."
He nodded and strode to it; gently setting the tray away from anything the still sizzling food could spill on. They had a good cook that was for sure.

"If you don't mind I'd like to eat, Captain eats alone soldier, dismissed."
He laughed. "I don't take orders from women in Civilian clothing, see what I do to them..."
The ODST took a step towards her on the balls of his feet then leapt, pushing her playfully before laughing, turning heel and departing.

The staffs stationed at facility 04 really were like pirates, they had no respect for anyone out of military clothing, and thus anyone not in uniform was rendered helpless in the chain of command unless it was a special occasion.
Hell, they still screwed around even when in uniform.

She promptly ditched the stuff she was currently wearing and exchanged it for a standard officer's set. Sighing in relief, Laura sat, and immediately began to chow down the food he'd brought, which consisted of a grilled steak, 'brushetta whatever it was called' bread, and a bottle of concentrated fruit juice.
Honestly, she didn't care what it was, it could have been poisoned and she still would have eaten it.
She was so god damn hungry.

Memories of happier times would flood to her; she remembered well her dog Streamer, a purebred Siberian husky broad in chest and muscle, straight in back, firm in flank and proud in stance. His eyes fierce, burning blue orbs of determination, an accomplished warrior in body and a snide, intelligent mastermind beneath.
With but a wag of his hypnotic tail and a shake of one powerful paw, he could be your friend forever, with but a glance he would be in your heart for eternity. When those ears perked up in happiness and his lips drew back into an amused smile, you're guaranteed to be cheery in spirits instantly.

A thin fur coat with coloring a thick snowfall on winter's eve, midnight black shrouding beneath for eternal darkness, majestic in demeanor with patterns that could make a professional artist cry out for his lack of skill.
Nature was absolute; nature was the epitome of true beauty, such as the example of Streamer.

Good times, all dead and gone because of "Daddy Dearest".
She gulped the last of the juice down and proceeded to read a book on Einstein's theory of relativity. Not that she had the slightest inkling of it since she was so bad at math but she liked to look at it and imagine herself coming up with the answer nonetheless.
Basically passing time, Laura continued to read.

* * * *

"Admiral on deck!"
Like a perfectly positioned line of wind up toy soldiers, the ONI Marines snapped to attention in unison, rifles shouldered.
Their numbers read three hundred strong, and their formation was reminiscent of a parallelogram. They stood in lines of twenty, each line several ranks deep. Between each section was a wide row large enough to support two warthogs abreast of each other.
Standing centermost of Facility 04's large courtyard each marine waited patiently for a very anticipated arrival, Preston Cole's equal.

He strode in acting much in the way a king would, as if he owned the place. A bulging mountain of muscle and intellect, soft eyes as green as the grass he gander with brown pupils as beaten as the paths trod, bald cranium silent plains in an autumn dusk.
Rhythmic tapping greeted that expected silence, his pristine uniform decorated with countless medals and insignia showing rank.

Tap... Tap...
Marines uncounted inhaled, uneasy, waiting for something. "Its him." A middle-aged sergeant with a robust demeanor remarked.
He turned so suddenly that some of the marines in the front lines instinctively jumped.

"As you well know I am Augustus Timber!" He spoke with a distinct southern accent, loudly and clearly with small hints of menace.
It took a few moments for the words to sink in, but those that understood the meaning were frozen, the color draining from their faces as if they'd seen legion upon legion of ghosts out for their blood.

Augustus' wind bitten brown skin accented perfectly the dull orange, deeply set scar running horizontally from right temple to left cheek and ending at his neck; ridges of fire set inside Nevada.
"Recently I've been told some stuck up little schoolboy excuses for marines have been doing dip-shit around here! I have come to change that!" His pearly white teeth formed unattainable syllables, each one cutting away your will to resist his word.
"You will be formed into some semblance of effective soldiers, best marks ever for any facility have been 100.99 percent! I expect you to do better! Got that Marines!"
Their response was instantaneous, without slightest semblance bordering on hesitation or insubordination.
"Sir. Yes sir!"
"You're damn right...!"

The mutated vocal chords and sadistic, brutal combat methods made Augustus Timber a near legendary figure to those marines that had heard of or seen him. A common boast was "That man could take down a Cyborg."
Every strand of truthfulness in that could be questioned, but if one was to ask a marine under him, he or she would simply nod and walk away, going pale all the while.

"Now, which one of you sorry excuses for soldiers thinks he knows how to run the core?"
Silence.
Augustus managed a small nod, more or less an impulsive gesture, short as the wind blows and the sunrises.
"Move your asses!" Incredibly loud! Ears are bursting, bleeding!

Down ramps contorting they trod, to entomb themselves within Facility 04's training sections. Herded like cattle they were whipped by over-eager drill sergeants shouting cries ranging from "Come on, I thought we were training soldiers here!" to "All right dirt bags, as of right now you are all, Maggots!" and the occasional "I didn't know they piled shit that high!" Strange was the UNSC.

Their training may have been brutal off camera, but Augustus timber multiplied that tenfold, systematic killing.

Corporal Mires Corona rushed passed a descending whip, dodging the explosive crack of its serpentine coils, weaving left and right or diving over writhing officers.
"Move it!"
A few blades cracked the air and wound crimson ropes all o'er his back, impulsively he turned snatched it while it was rising, yanking the wielder to him, executing a curt spin and greeting the sergeant's face with his elbow.

Spinning away he released the handle and fell off the side of those titanium-slanted platforms of death.
Above Augustus Timber watched him, his grin feral, he was much akin to a lion.

Mires would snatch that handle from the air, and bring his-own weapon to bear on an unsuspecting drill instructor. "Fight back!" The corporal shrieked. His prey writhed now screaming in pain; he was promptly knocked from the ramps, safety line pulling taught. However he fell in such a way that his body was disproportionate, and strung in that very line that had tried to save him. He'd strangled himself.

Marines everywhere heeded his cry, brining their empty rifles to bear, smashing their weapons into skulls and groins, a hill of ants 'whipped into an angry frenzy'.

Above, Augustus watched still, eyes alert, demeanor radiating purely sadistic amusement.

In seconds, Mires came to the conclusion that the melee was over. Augustus was, amazingly enough, standing next to him. "I want to see your face in the dirt soldier." His eyes were narrow, his hands tense.
"No." He would reply. The UNSC didn't kill of their soldiers of no reason. This wasn't the UNSC though. This was ONI.
"Insubordination." That single word, so... purposeful.
Augustus drew his M6D, and shot him in the face.

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