Log- 01
The Meta growled and stomped through the snow as Sarge steadily advanced, firing shell after shell into the Meta’s armor. The blasts did little to slow the monster’s advance, let alone injure it. The hulking freelancer swatted the offending shotgun aside and seized Sarge by the throat, slowly crushing his windpipe.
The red seargent’s cries went unheard by the Meta, the sound of blood pumping furiously through his veins drowning out his senses. The intense hatred he had harbored for these SIM soldiers and what they had cost him consumed his mind. As his revenge came to fruition, his only thoughts were on snapping the neck in his hands.
By the time the Meta finally registered the movement in the corner of his eye, the other two red soldiers had just tipped the wrecked Warthog over the side of the cliff. His eyes were drawn to the rapidly tightening tow cable stealthily hooked to his chest piece.
YOU FU-
His thought was cut short as he was suddenly torn off his feet and dragged across the slick ice. He roared as he grasped at the smooth surface for something, anything, to stop his impending doom. He finally settled for the ankle of another red soldier and dragged him toward the cliff.
FIGHT LIKE A COWARD, DIE LIKE A COWARD!
The super-soldier’s revenge was short-lived as his screaming victim grabbed onto his teammate’s hand, halting his slide and tearing the Meta’s grip from his ankle.
The Meta roared his outrage as he plummeted down the icy cliff toward the icy doom below; only slightly happier knowing that he had stolen back the Brute Shot in the struggle. He would die with his weapon in his hands.
He struggled with the hook embedded into his breastplate, but it had embedded itself firmly into his armor. Nor did he have time to tear off enough armor to float, not that he could hope to survive for long in the icy water anyway.
Realizing the futility of his roars, he silenced himself and turned toward the dark water, pondering this inescapable revelation. He had always found a way out before, but this time there was no such path. He had no A.I. to guide him, he couldn’t use his equipment, and he had nothing to halt his fall. It seemed rather odd that he of all... things would simply accept his fate, but even he knew unavoidable death when he saw it.
Would he be judged for his crimes? Did he regret his actions now that all was said and done? Would he be remembered?
He mused over these things as he slammed into the freezing depths, water flowing in through the cracks in his armor, chilling him to the bone.
Already his thoughts began to dull, the lights began to fade, and his suit began to creak as he was slowly crushed in the depths. He sighed as the cold shock gave him a sudden final moment of clarity. A final moment with his own sanity, what little was left after Sigma’s influence.
He was back.
He was Maine once more, for what it was worth.
In scant moments, the disoriented soldier had managed to piece together his shattered mind, get the drop on his replacement, and rivet his proper psyche back into place, promising his continued sanity. What little could be called sane, that is. He groaned painfully as the memories flooded through his mind.
Took me long enough... Burn in hell Sigma...
Heh...
I deserve this... I murdered half my team. Betrayers and mutineers have a special spot reserved for them in the lowest level of hell. And for what? What was my goal? The Alpha? That was their obsession, not my own. I can’t even remember what I fought for... but I regret that I never fulfilled it... what was it?
He blinked slowly as the last remnants of light faded and cracks began to form in his visor. He smiled softly as his original plans from years ago came back to him.
To be a soldier... I protected people... at least, in the grand scheme of things... or ... or so I thought... I did whatever it took... whatever they told me to do... for the greater good... it would be nice... to do that... for real this time...
He prepared to close his eyes, accept his fate, and die. His body went limp and sunk peacefully down. He took a deep breath, and...
Began tearing at his armor, eyes wide and glaring.
What am I doing? I can’t escape this, why am I-
Tangible thought faded as his life flew through his mind.
The UNSC flag, dishonorable discharge papers, the counselor holding out a contract, Project Freelancer, purpose, the team, York standing beside his bed in the med bay.
“You idiot! You’re lucky the Director didn’t penalize you for practically crippling yourself! What were you thinking!?”
Maine grunted and shrugged painfully as the medical systems repaired his shattered shoulder. A moment passed, and York opened his mouth to berate him again, when a low, low voice cut him off.
“Had to.”
York was shocked. Maine had never directly spoken to anyone other than the counselor of his own accord.
“Did... did you just...? I’ve never heard you speak a word outside of missions.”
Maine nodded and rumbled out in the gravelly, rough, and deep tones of his scarcely used voicebox.
“I’ve fought for everything. For one reason or another. Money, a favor, the human race... a promise... It’s all I’ve ever done. If I can’t fight, I have no reason to exist.”
York was surprised, to say the least. Maine’s reasons for joining Project Freelancer were often one of the first inquiries new recruits had after they met him. The thing is, no one but the Director knew his exact reasons. But York, through some miracle, had learned that Maine simply didn’t know how to do anything else.
York gave him a small smile.
“I... think I can respect that,” York answered hesitantly as he looked to the helmet feed playing at the end of the bed, showing the vast amounts of carnage the bed-confined soldier could achieve. “Hehe, as long as we’re on the same side, never change, Maine.”
A bloody brown helmet flickered across the memory.
”Never change.”
Maine sunk into the sea, the heavy, struggling form spiraling down into the darkness, a white beacon in the abyss that refused to be snuffed out.
He might die, and he might go to hell, but he would always fight. Hell, why not just fight his way out of hell?
...
”Maine.”
Maine was on his feet instantly, taking in his surroundings in a heartbeat. His armor and equipment was missing, as was a certain firearm.
A figure in a black cloak stood before him, a chipped scythe strapped to its back.
A golden scale sat between the pairing them, and a void of dark grey surrounded the scene.
Maine was on the Judgement Plane.
A bit stereotypical...
”I get that quite a lot.” The voice didn’t echo, or fade into the distance. Rather, it stopped in an instant, like death, appropriately enough. ”And yes, I can hear you. Thoughts speak louder than words here.
Maine blinked at Death’s words and glanced down at the scales, seeing no real need to ask who Death was. It was ridiculous just how cliche the Reaper was.
I’m going to be judged?
“Yes, Maine.”
...Don’t bother, I know where I’m going.
Death chuckled, a raspy, unsettling sound, as he reached for the scythe on his back.
“And you’ve already made up your mind not to go quietly, eh?”
Maine automatically fell into a free-handed martial arts stance, ready to fight for his life despite his lack of equipment. Death paused and looked him over approvingly before shaking his head.
“This may be a mistake on my part, but it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen a potential challenge... Ooh, I can’t resist. I can make a wager with you Maine, if you manage to best me in combat, you get a second chance to redeem yourself in life. If I win, I get another soul for my personal collection.”
He reached into the darkness covering his face, gagged for a moment, and pulled out a bundle of small, slimy glowing orbs from his throat. Whispers pleading to be freed or warnings to not fight echoed from the spirits. Death cackled and shoved the souls back into his mouth.
”Well? What’s your decision, Maine?”
Maine thought for a mere moment, his mind had instantly agreed there was only one choice that he would accept. Now to use Death’s overconfidence against him.
I think Death stacks the odds in his favor.
“Hmm?” Death cocked his head.
You have your scythe, give me my own weapon. Or do you want to be known for unfair deals?
Death eyed him for a moment and laughed, admittedly a truly horrifying sound, though it didn’t do much in the way of scaring Maine. His training wouldn’t allow him to waver.
“Ah! You tempt me Maine. I feel as if we could be the best of friends... Very well, your wish is granted.”
Death waved a gray hand and a sudden wind blew past him. With a clunk, Maine’s Brute Shot dropped at his feet. He quickly picked it up and checked the clip. Six shots, a full clip. He was going to make them count.
With a guttural roar, Maine charged forward and swung at Death’s midriff.
Death almost casually took a step back and arched his stomach away from the blade.
Maine growled in annoyance and sent a complex series of heavily practiced stabs, punches, and slashes that Death just barely moved to avoid. In a desperate attempt to land a hit, Maine finally managed to catch the god by surprise with a single grenade aimed at their feet.
Five.
It was painfully clear that Death was unfamiliar with Maine’s tactics, despite his near perfect evasion of every attack sent his way. So as he jumped back from the explosion, he watched the edges of the blaze, expecting the mortal to skirt around it. Maine did the exact opposite of what a death-fearing being would do: He fired another grenade at his own unarmored feet, catapulting himself through the blaze like a bat out of hell.
Four.
The barely visible glint of Death’s eyes widened in surprise as he made to dodge the blade aimed for his skull. His cloak was torn asunder from his head by the point of the blade, leaving the face of Death exposed.
That’s a face only a mother could tolerate.
Death was not an attractive being. If the ash colored skin, wispy hair, and gaunt cheeks, and sunken black eyes weren’t bad enough, he now had a long, bloody slash stretching across his right ear. His shocked expression faded as he grinned at his opponent and laughed loudly.
“Excellent! Excellent! Congratulations, you are the first to ever wound Death himself!”
Once his mirth died away, he wiped away an imaginary tear and sighed. A sudden ringing of a bell made him pause and pull a small hourglass from his cloak. He scowled and growled in annoyance before looking back to block a stealthy broadside from the rapidly approaching Maine.
What now?
“The Man Upstairs told me to hurry things along. I enjoyed this little fight here, I really did. But~” Death smiled, and the air suddenly became thicker, much like a sauna, but without the heat. “-it seems your time has run out.”
Death suddenly darted forward, scythe poised to relieve Maine of his head. Only Maine’s instincts saved his life as the reaper’s blade was halted by the very point of his own reflexive block.
A scratch and a single drop of blood running down his neck sent a flood of rage through Maine’s body.
Death chuckled that now infuriating laugh again.
“Now, now, accept your fate.”
Has anyone actually accepted that?
Death actually thought about it for a moment. (Side note: Death is a bastard.)
“Well, there are actually quite a few people... Oh well, you’ll be dead soon either way.”
Maine took advantage of the god’s pondering and shoved him away, firing another grenade at close range in the process.
Three.
The Reaper sidestepped the projectile, and with pinpoint accuracy, neatly separated the charge from the trigger, rendering the explosive useless.
“Nice try, but I can read your mind here, remember? You can’t win. I hear your every move, Maine. Give it up already.”
Maine had an idea in mind, though he carefully masked it with an extra flurry of stabs.
He suddenly backed away and dived into the depths of his mind. He had become rather adept at it over time, and It was not hard to find who he was looking for. Behind mental bars stronger than diamonds, a golden dome stared back into Maine’s consciousness. It was very much alive and well, despite his best efforts. It said nothing, for it knew why Maine was here. It merely outstretched a white-plated hand and waited. Maine shuddered, but knew he had no choice.
Only when I need you.
The gilded helmet nodded, agreeing to any degree of freedom.
Maine reached forward and seized the hand.
“Who are you talking to-“
Death stuttered as every thought in Maine’s head suddenly faded. Maine could feel the old frame of mind, where he had been stuck for a very long time. Few changes were made, but now he was the one in charge. Maine took a deep breath and slipped away while he rushed in, eager to kill.
The Meta never fought with the A.I. guiding him. They gave him a goal and motivated him, but every blow was pure instinct.
“How did you-“
With a familiar growl, the Meta rushed forward and smacked away the scythe with the butt of the grenade launcher; firing point-blank into Death’s chest as he leaped back.
Two.
The sickly man flew back, his cloak shredded and just barely managed to stay on his feet. He coughed and glared at The Meta.
“H-how could you possibly manage to shut down your every thought?”
The Meta spoke.
We are the Meta.
“Th-that’s- a split soul!?”
As it turns out, he’s a permanent part of me now, and he doesn’t need to think to kick your ass.
Maine darted forward once more, switching mid-run as his body’s every action began running on combat tactics that were drilled into his head ever since day one of Project Freelancer. The Meta heaved a massive overhead strike at Death’s head. The emaciated man simply didn’t have enough weight to resist the strike and was forced to his knees. The Meta eagerly bore down with his weight, trying his best to crush the old man.
”This. Isn’t. OVER!”
With a shout more akin to a screech, and a surge of god strength, Death threw the Meta back.
The Meta backflipped through the air and landed on his feet. He looked up, only to see the beserker reaper right in front of him, sickly skinny arms rearing back the scythe to bisect him.
The Meta snapped the trigger once more, sending the both of them flying and losing hold of their weapons. Death landed heavily on his side while the Meta smoothly rolled to his feet, already running towards Death’s stunned form. The latter reared up his foot to crush Death’s skull and slammed it into the solid floor as the reaper rolled aside, shattering several bones. He merely grunted as pain lanced through the appendage. This was barely deemed a scratch to either side of Maine’s mind.
Death frantically made his way to his scythe and wrenched it from the ground. Maine realized the danger and turned his counterpart’s bloodthirsty charge away from Death.
The Meta instead leaped forward and rolled over the Brute Shot, picking it up as he went.
He turned back to Death and was suddenly struck through the shoulder, pinning him to the ground.
“Checkmate.”
Death had thrown his scythe; an extremely risky maneuver that would have left him defenseless had he missed. Unfortunately, he didn’t.
He panted heavily as he walked over to the struggling form. The Meta slowed and finally receded to the back of Maine’s mind as its will faded, exhausted from the hindrance of being held in check.
“I must congratulate you yet again, Maine. You are truly the strongest soul- or rather souls- I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I admit I respect you, Maine. Hell, I might even put you in a nicer spot in my stomach. But you know what happens next, no one escapes Death.”
Death leaned over and pulled the blade from Maine’s shoulder. Holding it over his head he looked down at the soldier once more.
“Any last words?”
Strike three.
Maine suddenly propelled Death off of his chest, seizing his weapon from where it fell. With a growl, he ripped the scythe out of Death’s grasp, shoved him to the ground, and placed the Brute Shot’s barrel between his eyes in one rapid motion. One grenade left to fire. Death was dumbfounded.
Your first mistake was letting me fight you. The second, thinking you beat me. And the third, the worst mistake one can make, gloating before victory.
“B-but you were mortally wounded!”
I took six bullets to the throat and kept on punching. You think a measly little stab wound would stop me?
Death had nothing to say for a moment.
“No wonder you were so overdue. It seems you’ve cheated me before... What an insult. Alright, I... I yield.”
He forced the words out.
I will live again?
“A deal is a deal, but not in your old realm. That is the one place I cannot put you. It would cause reality to tear apart at the seams.”
...Fine. I want my armor, equipment, weapon, and an A.I. with no memory of the Alpha... And my restored health, if you think you can pull one over on me.
“Believe me, I never want to see you again, Maine. Consider it done... I hope you have an awful life.”
And with that, true to Death’s word, Maine was gone.
:::::::::::::::
He awoke to a whistling in his ears, a feeling of weightlessness, the familiar sensation of armor wrapped around him, and for the first time in a long while, a clear mind.
Realizing the telltale signs of free fall, Maine quickly snapped into action. He twisted and turned himself over in the air to survey the rapidly approaching green landscape.
To his surprise, possible landing areas with odds of survival popped up on the visor. Small code scrolled by followed by text.
Integration Complete. All Systems Online. LZ mapped and logged.
Maine didn’t have time to celebrate his good fortune as the ground was rapidly approaching.
He angled his white-plated form towards a wooded area, a small town in the distance appearing for a brief instant before he began burning back into the atmosphere. Maine attempted to activate a geodesic shield. To his surprise, it worked... to a degree. With the additional air-drag he managed to slow himself to a survivable velocity before it broke.
It still hurt though.
The world went dark as he slammed through the first of many trees.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
(Three hours ago, Equestria.)
Twilight hummed happily as she finished reorganizing the Library again. Repetition breeds optimization of speed, after all. She turned to the stairs and called from the bottom step.
“Spike! I’m done with the books! You can come dust now!”
A small scuffle sounded before her number one assistant appeared.
“Coming!”
Twilight smiled and picked up a book that she was reading earlier as her thoughts drifted back to Spike’s change in schedule.
After his greed-induced growth spurt on his birthday, Twilight had grilled him for everything else that bugged him even a little. Eventually he admitted that the weekly reorganization of the library’s shelves was slowly driving him crazy. Twilight, the caring mother/older sister figure she was, was quick to remedy it. So instead of helping with the organization, Spike just dusted the library afterwards. A large amount of dust was always disturbed with the mass migration of over a thousand books, so it was still a rather substantial help to her. Spike was more than happy with the grunt work, claiming that all of the complex systems were “melting his brain.”
Scientific impossibilities aside, they were both quite happy with the new arrangement.
Spike snatched up the feather-duster and scurried up the ladder to begin the long task of meticulously dusting each and every shelf.
Twilight sighed and sank into the couch. She opened her book and read for the better part of an hour.
A loud crash suddenly startled her off the couch into the floor. A large dust cloud consumed her shortly afterwards.
“Oof... Spike? What happened?”
The green and purple dragon materialized from the haze with a sheepish grin on his face.
“Uh, Rainbow Dash.”
“Again?” Twilight groaned and pulled herself off the floor. “That’s the third time in this week.”
The cyan pegasus in question gathered the large dust cloud with her wings and swept it out the window with an apologetic look.
“Sorry Twi, the wind has really been going crazy today.”
Twilight blinked.
“Crazy how?”
“Does all of the wind currents spiraling towards one point count?”
“Uh yeah, it does. Where?”
“The Everfree.”
Twilight sighed and grumbled a bit under her breath.
“Wouldn’t be the first time it’s followed its own rules... Rainbow? Can you help me put these books back for now? I have reading I’d like to get back to.”
“Sure thing, Twi! I’ll have those books back in ten seconds flat!”
“Organized?”
Rainbow visibly deflated.
“Aw come on, Twi, nopony knows how to do that but you!”
“Calm down, It’s just a simple four-step algebraic equation. Nothing to worry about!”
Rainbow groaned in defeat and plodded over to her latest pile of books. Twilight turned back to Spike.
“Now then, keep up the good work, Spike.”
He chuckled nervously.
“Eh, about that... There’s actually no more dust on the shelves.”
Twilight looked over the library, and to her surprise all the shelves were immaculately clean. She turned back to Rainbow with a critical eye.
“Maybe she should crash into the library more often...”
“Twi? Are you coming or what?”
Twilight shook her head and dismissed Spike before attempting to help Rainbow Dash.
After about half-an-hour of Twilight reconsidering the idea of somepony melting their brain, She gave up and organized the books herself. Soon Rainbow took off again, a few Daring Do books heavier than she was before. Right after she left, an unusually long string of ponies demanded Twilight’s attention to her duties as librarian, interrupting her reading time repeatedly.
And believe you me, there was nothing that aggravated Twilight more than being pulled away from a book ten seconds after opening it.
She finally sat down again another hour later, one or two hairs out of place. She took a few deep breaths and calmly opened her book.
An hour later, she sighed in relief as she finally finished the book and placed it back on the shelf.
“Alright Twilight, it was just a rough morning. You’re fine.”
She gazed at the perfectly organized shelves with intense satisfaction.
And promptly locked the window.
“There, now nothing can possibly go-”
Twilight was suddenly silenced by a pink hoof poking out of a nearby potted plant.
“Don’t jinx it, silly!”
Twilight rolled her eyes and nodded as the hoof retracted from her mouth back into the plant. Twilight had long ago learned that when Pinkie was involved, it was far safer to just go along with whatever it was on the off-chance that the pink mare was actually right.
Twilight’s horn itched. She reached up to scratch it and realized that it had suddenly become much darker.
Fearing the worst, what with all the other unfortunate things that happen to Ponyville on a regular basis, Twilight teleported outside.
She was greeted by a quickly gathering storm visible over the Everfree Forest, blocking out the sun.
She attempted to use a scanning spell, but after receiving the jarring shock of magical-feedback overload, she decided to leave the ominous cloud be for now and simply observe it.
Many ponies were out on the streets already, watching the bizarre phenomenon. A few minutes later, Applejack showed up, Fluttershy and Rarity close behind her. They didn’t really have to say much, the problem was pretty apparent. Pinkie Pie was just suddenly there, for no apparent reason (as usual). And a somewhat blackened Rainbow Dash landed next to Twilight soon after.
“So... Twilight,” Dashie turned to her. “Any ideas on what that is?”
“Not a clue, maybe it’s just the Everfree going about it’s business.”
“That’s what the Weather Factory thought too. But when we tried to corral it, it blasted me and my team into somepony’s house.”
Twilight blinked slowly. She still had that annoying itch in her horn, and now she was sure it was coming from the cloud.
“Well, I can’t really scan it, and it’s definitely powerful magic, but I can’t really tell you anything more than that. I just can’t seem to affect it.”
Everypony was oddly quiet until Applejack spoke up.
“So, we jus’ sit here then?”
“Pretty much.”
“Do you think it likes parties? I wonder if-”
Twilight immediately tuned her out. Twilight knew Pinkie had been strangely silent. Nevertheless, she did give her an answer.
“Well, it’s a cloud, Pinkie. I doubt it.”
A few more minutes passed. Pinkie had finished her rant and produced cupcakes from her mane for everypony to snack on while they waited for something, anything, to happen.
Ponyville had seemingly frozen in place as everypony watched the ominous cloud.
Finally, after at least twenty minutes, the cloud started shifting violently. They watched with baited breath as it boiled and convulsed before suddenly just... shrinking into nothing... apparently.
“Wait, was that it?”
“Boo! What a buzzkill!”
Twilight sighed in relief as discontent spread across Ponyville.
“Well, I’m glad this day can’t get any worse.”
Pinkie gaped at Twilight. Her friends did much the same. Applejack stepped forward and placed her hoof on Twilight’s flank.
“Honey, don’t ya’ never tempt Discord. We gotta’ few strict rules on the farm, and that’s one of ‘em. Even Applebloom knows better. You’re on yer own here.”
The cries of protest were silenced as a loud bang resounded and a flaming white meteor fell from the sky.
“Woo!”
“Rad!”
Fluttershy fainted from the stress of waiting and the sudden climax. (The second kind, not the first one, perverts.)
Twilight tracked the falling object carefully as it fell, hoping to predict its crash site. Her eyes widened as the object sprouted a golden sphere of energy that slowed its descent. The sphere broke a moment later, and the object fell to the ground. A few seconds passed before the large shockwave hit. Everypony was launched a full foot in the air as windows broke and unsecured objects fell over.
The girls landed rather shakily on their feet. Twilight stumbled and regained her footing as she tried to fight down this sudden feeling of dread growing behind her.
A loud, long, crash was heard in the library. Twilight’s right eye twitched as every hair in her mane suddenly popped out of place and her pupils shrank to pinpricks.
“I... I-I j-j-ju-ust got finished with that... He-heh... Five hours of work, down the drain.”
Wisely, her friends stealthily fled the ensuing freak-out as Twilight’s frustration continued to build.
She raged silently, frothed at the mouth, and finally reached a boiling point.
”BUCK IT!!!”
Twilight practically tore the front door off its hinges, seized every single stray book in the library with her magic, and rammed them back into the shelves wherever they lay.
She fell to the floor, exhausted from the magical overuse and the incredible frustration she felt.
Me and my big mouth.
A few minutes later, Rarity, having drawn the short straw, tentatively poked her head around the door and surveyed the scene.
“Feel better, darling?”
”... Give me a minute.”
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Very well done so far mate!. Being a a large rvb fan myself, I've got to five you props for your depiction of the meta. Keep it up!
Jaja, thx mate
Hmm, interesting. I hope this goes very well for you, it's a very nice concept.
8621226
Gracì señor.
I will like to see how it goes.
We have enough reasons to fight we don't need another one.
Any story with the meta in it is good but this looks like it will be great. Also nice death v meta fight.
more
Before I read:
You mean the Grif-shot?
You have my attention good sir or ma'am.
It's always the shy quiet ones ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Awesome.