Jorge is ready to die for Reach. But, that's not in the cards. What is, however, is a land of magic and friendship. Something completely alien to a hardened super soldier.
Jorge-052 gave everything for his species, his planet, and his squad. Or at least, he thought he did. He did not expect to survive the destruction of the super carrier. And he certainly did not expect to be dumped into a world of colorful talking ponies. The battle-hardened, bred-to-kill super soldier may find himself a little bit out of his comfort zone.
Special thanks to Jack Kellar and Arxsys for helping me make my story as good as I can possibly get it. Appreciate it you guys
Jorge-052 sat down wearily on an overturned crate, pulling his helmet off and massaging his eyes and temples. He couldn't remember a time where he'd felt more exhausted; it felt as though his many years of war and conflict had had finally caught up with him. Sighing, he looked wistfully at the large device that lay before him, his eyes fixed on a small console. The screen displayed a single word in red, block-lettering: Detonate. Jorge steeled himself, trying to mentally prepare for what was tantamount to suicide. No, he thought to himself. Not suicide. Sacrifice. He was standing in the hangar of a Covenant Corvette, surrounded by the fallen marine boarders that had accompanied him and the corpses of the alien crew that had tried to deny them entry to the ship. The corvette itself was preparing to dock with a gargantuan CSO-class Super Carrier.
The warship was orbiting the planet Reach, one of humanity's best defended strongholds in the galaxy, a veritable fortress of a planet. And this massive war machine threatened to bring Reach to it's knees. Jorge was about to execute a desperate plan to defeat the behemoth, but at great cost. UNSC engineers had rigged a slipspace FTL drive to malfunction if activated, sending anything caught inside the portal's radius to oblivion. The makeshift bomb would be more than enough to destroy the ship, but it's timer mechanism had been damaged during the boarding of the Corvette. Leaving only one choice... the Spartan thought solemnly. The bomb had to be manually detonated. He had volunteered for it, not giving his squadmate Noble 6 any options. He loved his planet, and he could think of no better way to die than to die protecting her from a dreadnought full of murderous alien monsters.
After sending the newest member of Noble team plummeting back down to the planet below, Jorge found himself in his current state, staring at the devastating weapon he now had to employ against his enemy. A terrible, wrenching dread had set in his gut, tearing at his resolve. I'm going to die, he lamented. Not suddenly, not surprisingly, not a random moment in the chaos of battle. Deliberately. Planned. Intentionally. An unwanted feeling flowed through him, an alien feeling, something he had not truly experienced for years: fear. Cold, paralyzing fear. He had been trained to control his fear, use it to keep himself alive, and prevent it from controlling him during battle. But now here he was, unable to use his fear to escape some form of danger, for escape was not his intent.
He was walking willingly into the waiting arms of death, and it terrified him like he hadn't felt since his first days of Spartan training as a child. He thought back to these earliest of days, the absolute farthest he could remember, training with his fellow Spartans-to-be. Fighting, suffering, triumphing alongside people who would become more than just his teammates, more than even friends; nobody could ever know a Spartan like another Spartan could. To each one, their team was the closest thing to a family they would ever have. This thought brought Jorge's mind jarringly back to the present. My family... Jorge thought, looking through the gaping hangars to the planet below, watching as it's surface was bombarded from the orbiting super carrier, flashes of sickening orange bursting into existence, covering miles upon miles of land with each detonation. His Spartans were down there. Fighting. Dying. And he wasn't doing anything to help them. A wave of guilt hit him like a physical blow. How selfish could he be? What was his life compared to the planet full of his kin below? A tremor rippled through his body as anger and embarrassment coursed through him.
His head snapped back to the Slipspace bomb before him before glancing down at the helmet in his hands. The burnt gold visor stared impassively back at him. Twirling it in his hands, Jorge slammed the helmet back down on his head, sealing it to his armor.
"You're a Spartan," he growled to himself. "Act like one." With that, he leapt forward off of the crate he had been sitting on, crossing the distance to the bomb instantly. As he reached it, his hand came up to the console, hovering above the word "detonate". The fear was stronger than ever now, his self-preservation instincts screaming at him to take his hand away, to run, to live. He didn't want this to be the end. He didn't want to die. His hand wavered for a moment. But then he remembered something. Something that had started out just to keep morale up, but had ultimately evolved into a mindset, a way of life for Jorge and his brethren. Something he and every other Spartan who had ever lived had been taught, been imprinted with, this idea ground into their very identity to create the ultimate killing machines that they were. "Spartans never die," he whispered, and tapped "detonate."
***
The massive, imposing form of the Covenant CSO-class Super Carrier Long Night of Solace hung over Reach like a vast and invincible obelisk. It's batteries of plasma torpedo launchers were spitting out a torrential downpour of roiling death at the hapless planet, whose orbital defenses had already been wiped out in that sector, preventing the UNSC armada surrounding the planet from launching an effective counter offensive. To add to the intimidating scene, swarms of smaller support ships circled it in a protective cloud. Squadrons of fighters and interceptors, a handful of battlecruisers, and a small fleet of corvettes scurried around the carrier like a hive of bees guarding their queen. The invincible capital ship in return supplied the smaller craft with troops, munitions, food, and fuel, keeping the invasion force progressing steadily.
In the belly of the monstrous warship, one of it's corvettes pulled in, docking for a refueling run. As it approached, traffic officers aboard the Long Night of Solace hailed it in order to guide it to the appropriate dock. However, to the surprise of the controllers, there was no answer. As the smaller ship prepared to dock, concern grew to full-on panic, and the traffic controllers prepared to give the order to fire. But in that instant, a prick of light formed in the center of the corvette, expanding outward into a gigantic globule of light and completely encompassed the middle third of the ship. As quickly as it had come, it had gone...but as it receded, the space where the ship had been was empty. The other two thirds of the ship fell away from each other, spewing debris. The devastating Covenant warship was destroyed, and Reach was -for the moment- safe.
***
Jorge's vision was temporarily blinded as what appeared to be a star burst to life in front of him. His visor responded, automatically kicking up polarization to 100%, blocking out the light. Already disoriented by his lack of sight, Jorge lifted off of the deck, apparently no longer in the grip of the ship's artificial gravity. He floated wildly upward, far too violently for a simple loss of gravity, slamming into the ceiling. He heard an alarm inside his helmet as his shields absorbed the impact, and flailed his arms, trying to grab anything with which he could anchor and stabilize himself. Thinking quickly, he activated the mag strips in his boots, and slammed his feet into the first surface he felt.
With a pair of satisfying clangs, his boots anchored themselves to a large metallic object. He could tell that whatever he had attached himself to was not anchored, but it was better than tumbling around on his own. Gradually, Jorge's eyesight returned, the bright, blinding afterimages slowly fading, replaced by a sickening, spiraling view of the hangar. Equipment, weapons, containers and bodies flew about, crashing into each other with frightening regularity. Jorge had attached himself to a large Covenant weapons container, which was tumbling dangerously. With a crash, the container collided with something that he couldn't see, and its momentum changed, reversing and slowing down.
Thankful for the slight reprieve, the Spartan tried to use this as a chance to get his bearings and formulate a plan. He glanced around the hangar, looking for anything that could help him, but his attention quickly became focused on the view outside the hangar: instead of the speckled ink of space, he saw brilliant blue skies and fluffy white clouds shooting upwards at an alarming speed. It then dawned on Jorge that the artificial gravity was working just fine; the ship was falling into a planet's atmosphere.
What is going on? Jorge wondered incredulously. Am I still on Reach? Determined to get a better view, Jorge waited until his container had oriented itself in the optimum position, and launched himself off of it with a push from his powerful legs. He flew towards the ceiling, and flipped around to land feet first. Locking to the surface, he sprinted to the lip of the hangar, glancing downward. A vast expanse of land was visible below, lush and verdant, though completely foreign to Jorge. He didn't recognize a single landmark. As confused as he was, he knew he would have to worry about that later. With another push, he launched himself towards the massive pelican dropship tumbling around the hangar bay. He smacked into its hull, his shields once again dipping in strength as they absorbed the impact. Like a gigantic metal monkey, he nimbly climbed to the aft end of the craft, swinging into the open door. He looked in the gear lockers, pulling out a large metal case.
"Gotcha," he said, opening the emergency re-entry kit. After strapping on the thruster and heat shield, he crawled out from the back of the Pelican, and oriented himself, preparing for another jump. As the dropship rotated, he was presented with a view of the open hangar doors. At the sight of the bright blue sky, Jorge pushed off against the hull, propelling himself forward through the hangar doorway and out of the ship. The ground rushed up to meet him much faster than he had been expecting; in the time it had taken him to prepare for his jump, the ship had fallen from the upper atmosphere to what looked to be just over 1000 feet. Jorge immediately activated his thrusters, propelling himself away from the falling shipwreck, lest he be crushed by the mass of metal. Even with two thirds of the ship gone, the chunk of starship was still gigantic. He allowed himself to free fall long enough to get out from under the super carrier, then reoriented his thrusters downwards to slow his descent. As the carrier passed him, Jorge examined it to appraise his handiwork. He looked with satisfaction at the two sheared ends of the ship, each spewing debris as it fell. Target eliminated he thought with no small amount of pride. However, he quickly turned his thoughts to the rapidly approaching ground. Even with his thrusters, it was going to be a rough landing.
The land below looked to be some sort of jungle or forest, with a large river flowing past down from a nearby mountain. It was this mountain that the super carrier careened into, his auditory senses being assaulted by the booming thunder of shattering rock and the earsplitting shriek of shearing metal. The Long Night of Solace's super structure crumpled itself against the mountain, blue bursts of plasma bursting from the fractures in her hull. Jorge doubted very much that he would have survived such an impact, and was thankful for having escaped the doomed vessel, albeit very narrowly. But now he had a different problem to deal with: his own landing.
Shifting his body, he tried to adjust his path to land nearer to the carrier. Though there was certainly a risk of Covenant survivors, he wasn't about to explore this strange land unarmed, and was certain he would be able to scavenge some weapons. He made sure to relax his body as he approached the ground to avoid muscle damage. He crashed through the the forest canopy, snapping through branches and vines as he plummeted the last few feet to the surface, the sound of the rushing wind muted by his helmet's sound filters. Jorge saw the green and brown ground rushing up to meet him, squeezed his eyes shut, and promptly lost consciousness as he crashed into the dirt at over 100 kilometers an hour.
Equestria. A land of harmony and balance. Anyone looking out across the vast expanses of the land would have sworn they had just entered paradise. With it's majestic mountains, lush forests, and cheery towns, one could almost say Equestria was simply idyllic. The inhabitants of the land had not known war for millennia, and usually had no problems worse than a grouchy neighbor or an annoying relative. However, 'usually' is the key word there. One only has to observe Equestria for so long before a potentially kingdom-toppling threat rears its ugly head. For example, today's problem decided to take the form of a massive, flaming hulk of metal plummeting from the sky and into Foal Mountain, coming to rest upon the mountain range like the corpse of some great beast. As was the norm, mindless panic set in immediately.
The meteorite had been seen coming down for hundreds of miles around, the colorful, equine citizens of Equestria pointing their hooves upward in terror. Despite being nowhere near the UFO, ponies felt it necessary to gallop through the streets, screaming at the top of their lungs. Others hid, barricading themselves in their homes with the doors barred and curtains drawn. Just west of the crash site, a lone mountain loomed far above the peaks of the Foal Mountain range. At the very summit stood a pair of tall, majestic alicorns, studying the gargantuan foreign object that lay below them. Princesses Celestia and Luna, the royal sisters of Equestria, shared a concerned glance.
"I still don't understand how we didn't feel it. Nothing should be able to get into the planet's orbit without us knowing," Luna said in a worried tone. Celestia nodded, returning her gaze to the smoldering ruin.
"I did not sense it until right before it crashed. I do not think that is because it slipped past us. I think it was because it was not even there before we felt it."
"What do you mean?" asked Luna, giving her sister a confused look.
"I believe it may have been instantly transported here." Celestia returned her gaze to Luna.
"Like teleportation?" asked her younger sister.
"Possibly," answered Celestia. "It is only a theory," Luna pondered the idea for a moment before nodding.
"That would explain why we didn't feel it. But teleported here by whom? And for what purpose?"
"I wish I knew, dear sister." Celestia sighed as she turned back to look at the strange vessel. "I only know that we must find out as soon as possible. I will muster the Guard. Perhaps it would be best if you put the minds of our citizenry at rest."
"Of course, Celestia. Good luck and farewell," responded Luna, and took to the sky with a flap of her wings. Celestia watched her sister disappear into the clouds before she too departed, vanishing with a pop and a flash of golden light. Half a second later, she was outside the barracks of the Canterlot garrison. The guards took a moment to realize who it was who had just materialized in front of them before snapping off a pair of smart salutes.
"At ease, gentlecolts," said Celestia as she walked past them into the barracks. She walked up to the reception desk and eyed the nervous private manning it.
He gave her a salute as she approached. "Y-Your Majesty. Its an honor to have you here. How can I help you?"
"I need to see Major Quick Shot, immediately," she stated firmly, conveying a sense of urgency.
The guard nodded rapidly, scrambling out from behind his desk and galloping off to find the garrison's CO. The princess watched him disappear through the adjacent hallway, questions bubbling forth in her mind. What was she dealing with here? Would there be living creatures there? Would they need help? Would they be a threat to her subjects? She had no way of knowing until the anomalous object was investigated.
The sound of hooves clacking against tile snapped Celestia out of her thoughts. She looked up to see the young private come through, followed closely by an older unicorn clad in golden officer's armor, polished brilliantly, and adorned with a pair of golden oak leaves on his shoulder plates designating his rank. The major knelt into a bow. "How may I be of service, your Majesty?" he asked politely.
"You may rise, Major Shot," Celestia responded, raising her hoof in a beckoning motion as she turned to exit the building. The major got to his hooves and quickly matched his pace with the princess. "I trust you are aware of the situation, and have a response prepared?" Celestia asked, cutting straight to business.
"Yes, your Highness. All of our forces across the nation have been on high alert since the object came down. The Canterlot garrison has a rapid reaction squadron on standby and ready to go. Just waiting for the word."
"Excellent. I knew I could count on you." Major Shot couldn't help but grin a little at his Princess's praise. "Launch your troops immediately. We must investigate the object as soon as possible."
"Understood, your Highness. They will deploy immediately. However, the reaction team will only be able to conduct a cursory sweep. It will take time to organize a more thorough reconnaissance of the area."
Celestia nodded. "I understand, Major. Do whatever you can." She stopped, turning to look at him with a serious gaze. "Please be careful, Quick. We have no idea what we're dealing with here."
Major Shot gave her a short nod. "We'll be ready for whatever's up there, your Highness."
The princess gave him a small but warm smile. "I know you will. Now." She spread her wings, preparing to take flight. "I must help my sister keep our subjects calm. Report back to me when you are finished."
Quick Shot snapped off a last salute as she strode past him. "Of course, your Highness. Good luck."
"You as well, Major. You as well."
With that, Celestia alighted into the air with a single flap of her powerful wings, and quickly shot off into the distance. Major Shot wasted no time watching her depart, trotting straight back into the barracks. The private at the reception desk looked at him with an expectant, almost dreading look in his eyes. "Scramble the reaction team," the major ordered. "We have work to do."
***
Thunder pawed at the floor of the hangar in anticipation. The excitement was palpable, and it filled his body to the brim with energy. He yearned to spread his wings and take to the skies, but his discipline kept him in check. As a captain in the Royal Guard Air Corps, he had to set an example of flawless military bearing for his troops. Keeping this in mind, he willed his hooves to stay firmly planted on the floor. He turned his focus to his squadron, giving them another last minute once-over to ensure his team was ready to go. And, as they had been the last ten times he had checked, they were ready to go, fully kitted out with lightweight aerial combat armor, modified with jungle camouflage, since Foal Mountain was covered in a dense canopy of vegetation. Each pegasus also carried a small short sword in place of the heavier spears generally favored by unicorns and earth ponies for ground combat.
They stood lined up in a delta-shaped launch formation in the primary Air Corps hangar of the Canterlot garrison, looking more than a little bit impatient. Like their captain, Thunder Bolt's troops were having a little bit of trouble hiding their excitement. Wings ruffled, hooves pawed, gear was checked and rechecked. Their anticipation was warranted. This wasn't just some boring monster incursion. They were finally getting some real action for once! A gigantic UFO falling from the sky? Captain Bolt grinned. Now THAT was what he had joined the guard for! He and his team might be the very first Equestrians to ever interact with an extraterrestrial species! Who could claim that? Nobody, that's who, thought Thunder excitedly. His thoughts were interrupted as a loudspeaker on the hangar wall blared to life:
"RRT, green light, I say again, green light to launch. Launch on my mark." A massive grin erupted across Thunder's face as he prepped his body for take off, crouching and unfolding his wings.
"Alright squad, you heard 'em, prep for take off!" he shouted to his team. A chorus of rough affirmatives was barked out in response, and Captain Bolt knew his team was ready. The voice on the loudspeaker cut in again, counting down:
"Five..." Thunder flapped his wings experimentally. "Four..." he gave himself a quick pat down to ensure his gear was in place. "Three..." His muscles tensed, his body becoming taut like a compressed spring. "Two..." Goddesses, I love my job, the captain thought to himself. "Launch!"
The pegasi shot like bullets from the hangar, their powerful wings propelling them instantly forward. They maintained their delta formation, with Captain Bolt at the tip, leading his team in a direct path straight to Foal Mountain. The burning hulk was visible even from the great distance between the two mountains. It's location was made even more obvious by the thick columns of black smoke rising up from the wreckage. Thunder studied it's form as his eyes focused and he was able to make out the details. It looked strangely beautiful, with sleek, graceful curvature and a silvery, polished sheen. That is, except for the massive cracks and fractures running down it's surface, and the numerous strange blue fires that burned profusely up and down it's body, showing the damage caused by impacting with the mountain. What puzzled Thunder was the other damage, which seemed to be unrelated to the crash. The two far ends looked blackened and charred, and were leaking thick columns of smoke. It appeared as if there had been more of the structure attached at these two ends that had been sheared off. The pegasus captain couldn't fathom how such a huge object could have had even more mass.
As they approached, they cut their altitude, descending to just above the forest canopy and spreading out their formation. The pegasi guards slowed down, their sharp eyes sweeping back in forth in front of them, watching for any trace of suspicious activity. As they approached the wreckage, Thunder shouted out to his team.
"Split up! Teams of three, 100 meter spread, stay in formation!" The pegasi fanned out, putting the specified distance between each other as they began their individual searches. Captain Bolt formed up with his two nearest squad mates and rocketed forward, maintaining his position as the tip of the formation.
The mission parameters were to conduct a cursory sweep of the immediate area of the meteorite's impact, and search for anything that garnered immediate attention. He wasn't sure what that might include, but he was pretty sure a gigantic chunk of metal falling out of the sky and careening into a mountain was worthy of "immediate action". Thunder mentally shrugged. Decisions like that were way above his paygrade. What happened next, however, helped clear up the confusion surrounding what he was looking for as a series of loud cracks came up from below them. Well then, that answers that Thunder thought, and angled his wings down, diving down to the source of the noise.
Thunder and his two team mates slowed down as they penetrated the thick canopy, dodging branches and vines. A few more cracks rang out, much louder this time. The captain winced as the percussive blasts assaulted his eardrums. What is that? he thought, weaving his way to the forest floor. Suddenly, he punched his way into a clearing, and fanned his wings out to stop himself, flapping to maintain his height at the top of the trees. He scanned the ground below, and his eyes widened in shock. A pair of armored, bipedal beings were brawling below him, trading blows that would break a pony's bones. One was covered in light green armor, with a burnt orange face and bits of black between the plating. The larger of the two wore dark blue plates, it's purple, scaled skin bruised and cut where it was not protected by the armor. It had a large, protruding head with fearsome, fang-filled mandibles.
As he watched on in shock, the green creature slugged it's opponent in the stomach, doubling it over. As it lowered it's head, the green one brought it's knee up into it's enemy's face, the audible crunch of bones breaking making Thunder cringe. This was brutal, even to a Royal Guard. With this final blow, the creature in blue staggered back unsteadily, stared at the green one for a moment, and then collapsed on the ground. As near as Captain Bolt could tell, the creature had been knocked unconscious. It's opponent stood still for a moment, before making it's way to the trunk of a nearby tree, leaning against it, and sliding down into a sitting position, appearing to be breathing heavily. Thunder and his companions watched with bated breath, eyeing the creature warily.
After several seconds of staring at it, the pegasus on Thunder's left whispered in his ear, "Orders, sir?"
Thunder wasn't sure what to do, but before he had a chance to tell them as much, the creature stirred, raising it's head to look, what appeared to Thunder to be, directly at them. They all stood stock still, hoping the shadows offered by the trees would keep them hidden.
To their dismay, a voice rang out from below: "Well, are you going to sit up there all day, or are you going to get down here and talk to me?"
Pain. That was what Jorge noticed first. All over his body, a persistent, dull ache. He slowly opened his eyes, and took in the lovely close up of the dirt and rotting leaves an inch beneath his visor. Pushing himself up, Jorge got to his feet, albeit somewhat shakily. Spartan he may be, but a fall from that kind of altitude was never fun, and his body was making sure to remind him of that. Steadying himself, Jorge looked around to try and get his bearings. Unsurprisingly, he found himself in the middle of a dense forest, surrounded by thick underbrush and towering trees. It appeared that the sun was beginning it's descent, a few faint golden rays poking through the trees from the east. Or maybe it was dawn. Jorge had no way of knowing where the sun rose and set in this strange new place. He looked up, studying the mountain visible far above him, and could see the form of the carrier draped across it's forested slopes. With his destination in sight, the Spartan began to walk, his gait somewhat awkward as his bruised and battered body ached in protest to the movement. Jorge quickly got over it. He was no stranger to pain, and was used to pushing his body when it wasn't feeling very cooperative.
As he trudged through the thicket, he kept his head on a swivel, taking in every detail. Plants of every shape and size stuck out in inconvenient places, leaving no real path for him to follow. The supersoldier noticed that he did not recognize any of the local flora, which further confirmed for him that he was not on Reach. Jorge wondered how he would survive in an environment where he did not know what was or was not edible? He didn't even know if the atmosphere was breathable. How would the Spartan test these things? Hopefully there was some form of intelligent, non-hostile life form that would be willing to help him out. Yeah right. Jorge thought skeptically. He doubted he would find anything other than pissed off Covenant soldiers. That, of course, was the other reason to keep alert. The supersoldier was unarmed except for the M6G pistol on his hip, and he really wanted to ensure he was equipped with something more substantial should he encounter survivors from the ship's crew.
As the soreness across Jorge's body gradually wore off, his pace quickened, and his movements became more fluid. He silently picked his way through the forest, moving surprisingly quietly for an 8 foot behemoth in bulky power armor. His stealth was the result of hundreds of exercises conducted on Reach during his childhood, he and his Spartan brothers and sisters working together to evade and outsmart their instructors as they hunted each other through Reach's various environments, using only what meager equipment they were dropped off with and whatever they could steal and scavenge from the training staff.
Jorge breathed a contented sigh at the thought of his fellow Spartans. He swelled with pride at his actions, sacrificing himself to save his kin. And the best part was he wasn't even dead! Granted, being stuck on an alien world with no idea how to get back to Reach wasn't ideal, but given the alternative, Jorge wasn't in the mood to complain. All in all, things had turned out much better than he had expected. Live to fight another day, he thought to himself. Spartans were nothing if not practical.
Jorge was snapped from his reverie by the subtle crunch of footsteps through the vegetation. He quickly slid into a patch of dense, thorny bushes, concealing himself with barely any noise at all. He stared towards the direction of the footsteps, only to notice that they had suddenly stopped. As the Spartan swept his view slowly back and forth, a small twitch caught his eye. His eyes snapped back to where he thought he saw the movement, and studied the patch of foliage intensely, not daring to so much as blink. The leaves shifted again, and then he saw it: long, avian snout, a head full of ruffling feathers, and beady yellow eyes. A Skirmisher.
The creature sniffed the air, cocking it's head slightly in a jerky, bird-like manner. It slowly inched it's way out of the underbrush, moving in a perfect silence that not even Jorge could hope to match, it's long, multi-jointed legs striding forward carefully. It was no wonder the Skirmisher had been alerted to his presence; Kig-Yar such as Skirmishers and their smaller Jackal cousins had excellent senses of smell, sight, and hearing. Even the minimal amount of noise he had made had been enough to tip off his hunter. They were excellent trackers, and were often the bane of careless marines. Though physically rather frail, they were still a nasty addition to any Covenant force.
As the Skirmisher stalked nearer, Jorge slowly reached a hand towards a small branch, and deftly snapped it with his fingers. The Skirmisher jerked it's head in his direction, growling and clicking in it's own language. It drew it's weapon, a Type-25 plasma pistol, and leveled it in his general direction, approaching cautiously. Sweat beaded together on Jorge's forehead. He would have to do this quickly.
The Kig-Yar slowly but steadily closed the distance between the two warriors, sniffing the air as it came closer. It took another step, and suddenly the bushes in front of it exploded, a massive green and orange juggernaut rushing out to meet it like a freight train. The alien yelped and jumped backward, getting off a single shot that spattered uselessly against the MJOLNIER armor's energy shields. The Spartan caught the Skirmisher by it's leathery throat, and with a single movement snapped it's neck as easily as the twig he had used to grab it's attention. As the body went limp in his hand, Jorge tossed it into the foliage where he had been hiding. No use alerting any of it's friends to his presence.
He crouched down, scooping up the Skirmisher's dropped pistol. It's smoothe, almost elegant design seemed to indicate that it was anything but a weapon. Jorge knew better. All of the Covenant's designs may look pretty and organic, but those particular aesthetic choices now represented death and destruction to any human who saw them. Though the plasma pistol was not exactly the most formidable weapon he had ever wielded, it would do for the time being. Stowing the alien handgun, Jorge continued on his way, albeit far more carefully now. His fears of Covenant survivors having been confirmed, he would now need to exercise caution to avoid walking into a situation he wasn't prepared for. However, this meant slowing down considerably. Jorge had been fairly content with his progress before, but now he felt as though he was crawling along at a snail's pace.
He picked his way through the ever-darkening forest, doing his best not to step on anything that would give away his position. A few times he would step on a hidden branch or a dry leaf, and cringe as he heard the vegetation crack beneath his armored boot. But it seemed lady luck was on the Spartan's side for the moment, as he had not yet run into any more Covenant soldiers. Jorge hoped against hope that his good luck would hold, at least until he found a larger gun.
As he continued his journey towards the looming mountain, the Spartan listened closely to the sounds of the wilderness. There was definitely some form of native life in this world, as Jorge could hear the various animalistic cries and calls of creatures echoing throughout the trees, and he could hear the scurrying of small animals throughout dense underbrush around him and in the thick canopy of leaves above him. These sounds brought him back once again to the question of his survival. Would he be able to eat anything here? Would these native animals even have the same basic biological functions as him? What if they relied on photosynthesis, or filter-fed? The Spartan shook his head. He would cross these bridges when he came to them.
Suddenly, a loud roar shattered the relative quiet of the forest. Jorge instinctively dove for cover, landing face down in a patch of tall grass. The roar brought back unpleasant memories of guta attacks on Reach. Jorge had no problem facing down alien commandos armed with powerful energy weapons, attacking armored columns of tanks, or storming well-defended fortresses, but there was something about the unbridled ferocity and brutality of a non-sentient predator that Jorge found unsettling. Sure, a human can be dangerous if you put a gun in his hands, but some creatures were born dangerous, already equipped with all the tools necessary to be a lethal hunter. Jorge was not a man who scared easily. But he would be lying if he said he was at all comfortable knowing he shared the same square mile as whatever had made that noise.
He would have been content to lay there in the grass for a while, had he not then heard the unmistakable whine of plasma fire, followed by another bellow from whatever sort of creature was out there. With a sad sigh, Jorge pushed himself to his feet, and began moving through the vegetation towards the sounds of the fight. Though he tried to approach quietly, he prioritized speed, arriving at the scene in a matter of seconds. The soldier lithely slid into a dense patch of fan-shaped ferns, and then looked out towards the spectacle unfolding in front of him.
A Sangheili minor stood amid a fire team of Skirmishers, firing it's plasma repeater in short, controlled busts as it issued orders to it's squad in deep, guttural yells. Jorge followed the streams of plasma fire, and his eyes widened in shock. A huge, charcoal grey crocodilian was tearing through the trees toward the Covenant troops, purple blood staining the yellowed fangs that jutted out from it's gums. Massive spikes and scales decorated it's thick hide, and the thing's eyes seemed to glow a malevolent scarlett. It's muscular legs propelled it forward at a speed that didn't seem possible for such a large beast.
The Elite shouted another quick order to it's troops before diving to the side, out of the crocodilian's path. Most of the Skirmishers managed to jump out of the way as well, but two of them weren't quite fast enough; the Kig-Yar were quickly snapped up, disappearing into the the creature's jaws amid a spray of blood, gore, and severed limbs. Jorge blanched at the sight, grimacing in disgust. The creature licked it's fangs, savoring the bits of flesh clinging to the insides of it's mouth.
Then out of the corner of his eye, Jorge noticed a small blue orb of light sail through the air, landing on the back of the beast's head, where it clung to it's scaly skin. The creature did not seem to notice, continuing to enjoy the remains of it's kill. Until the plasma grenade detonated in a blue flash of crackling energy, blowing open it's skull and cooking the contents with a wave of super heated plasma. The crocodilian dropped to the ground, dead, thick, acrid smoke billowing from it's head. The Sangheili minor strode casually up to the corpse, examining it's handiwork. After a few moments inspecting the ruined cranium, the Elite walked away, apparently satisfied with the kill. It barked out another order, and the surviving Skirmishers formed up on their squad leader, keeping their guns up and their eyes sweeping the surrounding area, on the alert for any more threats.
Jorge gave them a them a thirty second head start. He needed to keep some distance between himself and his quarry to remain undetected. As soon as they were out far enough, Jorge slid out from the foliage and followed, stalking forward gracefully. As he passed the smoldering carcass of the great beast, he checked the grisly remains of it's prey near it's gaping maw, looking for any sort of equipment he could scavenge. Unfortunately, there was nothing left but a few torn limbs and purple blood stains soaking into the thick layer of rotting leaves coating the ground. The crocodilian must have eaten their weapons and armor. The Spartan examined the wound on it's head, thankful that he couldn't detect what he assumed must have been an awful smell. He had experienced the stench of flesh being cooked by plasma before, and it was something he tried not to think about. Jorge quickened his pace, eager to put distance between himself and the carnage.
As he turned to look back ahead, he stopped dead in his tracks. He had lost sight of the Covenant fire team. They were nowhere in view, which meant one of two things: either they had been moving more quickly than anticipated, or...
Streams of green and blue light erupted from the dense thicket ahead of him, the high pitched pulsing of plasma weapons drowning out the normal sounds of the forest. Jorge jumped to cover behind a boulder, plasma slapping against the other side. He drew his M6, leaving the stolen plasma pistol on his hip. He needed precision right now. He waited for a lull in the onslaught, and climbed up the boulder, peeking ever so slightly over the top, his eye staring down his pistol scope. The Spartan traced the streams of plasma back to their sources, the brightly colored flashes pinpointing each of his assailants.
Though it was easy to tell where the Elite was from the bluish purple color of the shots fired from his plasma repeater, it would be next to useless to fire at a shielded enemy with his pistol at this range. Instead, he picked out the feathered head of one of the Skirmishers. Lining up his shot, he squeezed the trigger, and watched with satisfaction as the creature's head jerked backward with a puff of purple, and it fell to the ground. However, the keen eyes of the other three Kig-Yar had seen his muzzle flash, and redirected their fire to the top of the boulder, with the Sangheili quickly following suit. He slid back down as the roiling plasma impacted on the rock, sizzling and bubbling like eggs cooking on a hot sidewalk.
Jorge ran to the left side of the boulder, and leaned his pistol out to return fire. This time, however, the Skirmishers were ready for him, and redirected their fire onto him the moment he revealed himself. He jerked back into cover as the hot plasma flew past him. Thinking quickly, he reached to his belt and pulled an M9 HE/DP fragmentation grenade from a pouch. Priming it, he threw the grenade up and over the boulder in the direction he thought the Skirmisher he had been trying to sight on was. Jorge waited for a second or two, then...WHUMP. The concussive thrum of the grenade reverberated through the air, and the armor-clad warrior sprinted around the edge of the boulder.
Time seemed to slow down for the Spartan. He watched plasma fire crawl through the air as it made it's way to where he was hiding. He followed each of the green trails of light to their origins, picking out the Skirmishers dug into their firing positions. The supersoldier fluidly raised his pistol as he ran, firing off three shots in rapid succession. The first shot missed, splintering a tree trunk to the left of his target, but the next two found their mark, tearing into it's small frame. First target down. The second target had been fairly close to the grenade when it had exploded, and was crouching down, attempting to shield itself from the blast. Jorge fire a single round, catching the Skirmisher in the back. The .50 caliber round killed it instantly. The third target, by now having had enough time to track Jorge as he ran from cover, was firing at him, it's pistol shrieking as it discharged. He fired another burst of three shots at it, the first one catching it in the head, decapitating it, while the last two shots flew over it's stumbling body.
Jorge slid to a stop behind a large tree, breathing heavily. It had taken exactly eight and a half seconds to kill the three Kig-Yar, but to Jorge it had felt like hours of careful preparation and execution. He depressed the magazine release on the M6, sliding the magazine into a pouch on his belt, while retrieving a fresh one and inserting it. He racked the slide, resulting in a satisfying metallic sound. Raising the pistol, he charged towards where the Elite had been, but the alien was nowhere to be seen. Jorge rushed forward through the thick forest, determined to catch his enemy before it could get away, or worse, warn possible reinforcements.
The Spartan raced forward, only to skid to a halt and dive to the ground as plasma bolts slapped into his energy shields. Getting quickly back to his feet, Jorge raised his pistol, searching for his assailant. He quickly found him, for apparently this Elite was done hiding in the bushes and waiting to ambush him. It stood in plain view, firing a steady stream at him from it's repeater, only to have the weapon overheat and stop firing, opening up to vent the excess heat.
Jorge took advantage of this opportunity, firing all eight rounds of the magazine at his opponent. Though most of his shots connected, none of them were the vital head shots he needed to bring it down quickly. Enraged, the Sangheili warrior charged at him, it's long legs quickly carrying it into Jorge with the force of a small car. Jorge was thrown off his feet by the tackle, and was now pinned to the ground, the Elite straddling him and beginning to land heavy blows on his helmet. Jorge caught one of the fists, yanked it down, and sent his own fist crashing into the Sangheili's head, knocking it off of him. He struggled to his feet, the beating he had just received taking it's toll.
The Elite was also back up, and had it's fists raised in a fighting stance. Jorge assumed his own stance, and the two began to brawl, closing the distance and throwing punches into each other with reckless abandon. Soon, both combatants had lost their shields, each fighter's respective armor blaring alarms into their ears to alert them of the danger. The warriors paid no heed as they continued their fight, lost in the thrill of close combat. However, now that there were no shields, Jorge began to gain the upper hand, punching places where his opponent had no armor to protect him, whereas the human was covered from head to toe.
Sensing the alien weakening, Jorge decided it was time to end this. He drew back, and threw a punch right into the Elite's belly, causing it to cough and sputter. As it bent over, he grabbed the back of it's head, and rammed his armored knee into it's face. The Sangheili took a few unsteady steps backwards, it's hands attempting to staunch the flow of purple blood flowing from it's mouth. Jorge noted with satisfaction that it's mandibles appeared to be broken. The Sangheili glared defiantly at the olive-colored Spartan, rage burning in it's eye. If looks could kill, the Elite would have won then and there. But, the pain it had taken proved to be too much, and it's eyes rolled up into the back of it's head as it collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
Jorge looked at the body for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. Then, as the adrenaline began to wear off, the effects of the fight began to take their toll, and the Spartan walked over to the nearest tree, allowing himself to rest against it and slide down into a sitting position. He let his body go limp, simply enjoying the ability to just sit there and breathe, gulping down the stale, recycled oxygen.
Then, Jorge heard the whispering. He looked up towards the source of the hushed tones, which was surprisingly up near the canopy. He stared hard for a few seconds before he saw the movement. It looked like...wings? Sure enough, the soldier could make out the shapes of three small flying creatures above him. As soon as he picked them out, however, all movement ceased. Whatever these things were, they were watching him, and they didn't seem hostile. Well, not yet anyway. Jorge thought grimly. He zoomed in with his visor, trying to get a better look at thses new creatures. They looked like...horses? Small, sure, but there was no mistaking the snouts, manes, and tails. Small talking horses with wings. Weird, he thought, but I suppose I can't afford to be picky.
Jorge weighed his options. He could just ignore them, and let them continue whatever they were here to do, while he struggled his way up this mountain, likely encountering more Covenant on the way. Or, he could try to turn this unknown into a known, and hopefully get some help. So, with his best diplomatic voice, he hollered up to the newly discovered alien species, "Well, are you going to sit up there all day, or are you going to get down here and talk to me?"
Captain Bolt cast an uncertain glance to his subordinates. One gave him a nervous stare, the other offering him a shrug. Neither provided him with any sort of solution to their current predicament. The captain turned his gaze back down to the forest floor, where the bipedal creature looked up at them expectantly. With a sigh, he released his grip on the surrounding branches, and began his descent. The faceless visor stared at him impassively, making the pegasus rather uncomfortable. Thunder touched down on the carpet of dead leaves, folding his wings in and waiting for his troops to land beside him.
Jorge waited patiently as the creatures came down to meet him, fairly surprised that they had seemed to understand him; he had realized after he had spoke that it was rather presumptuous to assume an undiscovered sentient race would understand English. Fortunately, things seemed to be working out well enough anyway. These new creatures seemed to at least understand that he had been attempting to communicate with them, and had apparently decided to humor him.
As they landed in front of them, he studied their appearances carefully. Each wore a set of metal plate armor, the interlocking bands painted with a mixture of browns, blacks, and greens, to camouflage them in their jungle environment. Each also carried a small sword in a scabbard visible on their sides. The small wings on their backs folded into their sides, reminding Jorge of the winged horse Pegasus of Greek myth. He noticed that they had brightly colored coats, manes, and tails; the one in front was orange with green mane and tail, whereas the one on the left was blue with red, and the one on the right was yellow with white. The Spartan wondered if these were stylistic choices, or if the bizarre coloring was natural. He wondered for a moment what he had just got himself into.
As the human studied the descending pegasi, they, too, studied him. The most immediate feature any of them noticed was his size. The biped stood almost twice as tall as they did, and was outfitted in broad, bulky armor from head to toe. Or at least, that is what Thunder Bolt believed. The featureless orange screen certainly looked like a helmet, but he honestly had no idea if that was the creature's real face or not. It's armor was a dark olive green, save for the small cracks in between the plates, which were black, and the protruding chest piece, which was a dull orange. Unlike the polished armor of the pegasi guards, which gleamed in the little sunlight that filtered down through the trees, this creature's armor was pocked and scarred, obviously heavily used.
Looking up at this armored behemoth in front of him, Thunder couldn't help but gulp in anticipation. The biped gave a small but noticeable snort in response. Stiffening, Thunder felt his pride buck indignantly. If he was going to going to represent all of Equestria in their first encounter with a new race, he was going to do it properly. Standing up straight, he looked squarely into the blank, golden screen that covered the front of the creature's head, setting his face into the most stoic expression he could muster.
Drawing a deep breath, he introduced himself. "Greetings. I am Captain Thunder Bolt of the Equestrian Royal Guard Air Corps. I am here on behalf of the royal sisters of Equestria to welcome you to our land. May I ask your name?" He finished with a respectful inclination of his head, feeling very satisfied with his introduction. He waited politely for the biped to respond.
Jorge's eyebrows could not have physically climbed any higher up his face. He had just survived being blasted through the dimensions, and now was standing here listening to a small, multicolored winged horse speak perfect English. Jorge had fought across the galaxy on hundreds of different worlds against countless unimaginable foes, but this may have been the strangest situation he'd ever found himself in. However, as odd as it was, he was quite content that nothing was trying to kill him at the moment. That being the case, he decided not to question it and roll with it. "Chief Warrant Officer Jorge-052, UNSC Navy," he said, extending his hand. He realized as he reached for the aliens foreleg that Captain Bolt would likely have no idea what he was doing, and may even perceive Jorge reaching for him as some sort of threat. After all, why would a being that had never before encountered humans understand the Human custom of shaking hands? To Jorge's complete surprise, however, the captain extended his hoof to meet the Spartan's hand.
It felt rather odd, have this creature's hand wrap around his leg with it's grasping, spidery fingers. To be honest, it kind of creeped the pegasus out. But he endured it for the sake of intergalactic relations. He noticed that this "Jorge" had a very strong grip, which served to remind him of the brutal display he had just witnessed. Thunder felt that it would be of particular importance to keep Jorge happy.
As the two broke the hoof/handshake, Jorge spoke up. "Do you mind telling me where I am exactly?" he asked.
"Of course," Thunder answered. "You are in the nation of Equestria, on the planet Equus."
"Equus...what solar system is that in?"
Thunder stopped for a moment. "Um...I'm not sure. Astronomy isn't my field. Someone in Canterlot would be able to tell you I'm sure," he said, pointing his forehoof to the West. Jorge followed the captain's gaze, spying a mountain in the distance through the gaps in the trees. This one towered over the mountain the carrier bad crashed into, it's peak obscured by a veil of cloud cover.
Jorge turned back to Thunder. "Canterlot is a city?" he asked.
The equine nodded. "Yes, Equestria's capital. We should get there, our princesses will want to meet you. Perhaps they can help you." As he said this, Thunder felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look at his compatriot, who was shooting him a concerned look. "Yes, staff sergeant?"
"May I have a word, sir? In private?" the pegasus asked, his eyes giving a barely noticeable flicker in Jorge's direction.
Captain Bolt took the hint. "OK." he said, following the guard a few feet away. "What's wrong, sergeant?"
The staff sergeant cast one last glance to Jorge before speaking. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think its a good idea to just up and invite this thing to meet our princesses."
Thunder nodded. "Sergeant, I understand your concern, but we cannot simply leave him stranded here, not when he has shown us no aggression."
The sergeant's eyes widened, his jaw dropping. "No aggression!?" he whispered furiously. "He beat that other thing to a pulp! Sir, I don't think you underst-"
Captain Bolt cut him off, his eyes narrowing. "Mind your tone, sergeant. You're addressing a superior officer." This cowed his subordinate; his mouth snapped shut and his ears folded back, his eyes turning downward. Satisfied, Thunder spoke up. "You know protocol. Any contact with a previously undiscovered sentient race is to be followed up by introduction with official Equestrian representatives. Besides, we do not understand Jorge's circumstances, nor anything about his history with the other creature. We will take both back to Canterlot, and help them. Just because they were fighting each other doesn't mean we need to abandon either of them. We can find out exactly what's going on later; right now, its our responsibility to assist them in any way possible. Am I clear, Staff Sergeant Hawk?"
"Yes, sir," came the dejected reply.
"Good." Thunder's expression softened slightly, his glare fading away. "We will take appropriate measures in order to maintain order. Don't worry, we can handle this." With that, he turned around, trotting back to where Jorge was waiting with the other guard.
As they returned from their conversation, Jorge pondered what he had heard. Though they had been out of earshot for a normal human, Jorge's enhanced senses and the MJOLNIR's sophisticated microphones had helped him listen in on the little chat. He hadn't been able to make out some of it, but he had gotten the gist of it. The sergeant's concern about him made sense, and was expected. Jorge, frankly, found the captain's willingness to present a strange, obviously dangerous new being to their leaders highly irresponsible. But what bothered Jorge was what they wanted to do with the Elite. His eyes shifted over to it's unconscious form, sprawled across the forest floor like an ugly bear pelt rug.
As Captain Bolt and Staff Sergeant Hawk resumed their positions, Jorge folded his hands behind his back in a parade rest, waiting for them to speak. Depending on how what they told him compared to what he had heard, Jorge would be able to roughly gauge how much he could trust them.
"We have decided that we can take you to Canterlot, where you can take any questions you might have to ponies who may be more knowledgeable than me or my troops. Now, regarding that," Thunder cast his eyes towards Jorge's fallen opponent. "We don't know what kind of relationship exists between the two of you, but I, in good conscious, cannot leave another creature abandoned here if I am to help you. We'll be taking it to Canterlot as well. We will take the necessary measures to keep the two of you apart to avoid any problems."
Jorge waited patiently for the captain to finish. Once he was done, the human spoke, his quiet voice hiding the emotional turmoil he felt inside. "I understand everything you've said, and, looking at it from your perspective, it makes perfect sense," Jorge paused a moment before continuing. "However, I know this thing. I know how it thinks, and what it's capable of. These are vicious, bloodthirsty monsters, and as long as it still draws breath, it will not stop trying to kill me."
Like Jorge, Captain Bolt waited for the other to finish before speaking. "I understand your discomfort with the situation, but I'm only hearing your side of the story. I am unable to judge until I've let him speak for himself. Even if I had heard his own testimony, I don't have the kind of authority to choose a side in whatever struggle you two are engaged in. It's out of my hooves either way." The pegasus shrugged. "I'm sorry."
Jorge stood still a moment, contemplating his options. He could resist them. He knew the sangheili couldn't be trusted, and that the best way to deal with the problem was to simply kill it. But then again, if these "ponies" were a major power here on Equus, he couldn't risk losing their support if that meant losing any possibility of getting back home. Grunting, he came to a decision. "Alright, fair enough," the super soldier said in a slightly defeated tone. Letting a single Elite live in order to get back to the war seemed like a manageable sacrifice. He wasn't happy about it, but it was something he could live with. For the moment. "Let's get to this city of yours, then."
A relieved smile broke out on Thunder's face. Jorge marveled at how expressive the pony's faces were; they seemed to have little in common with their Earth cousins outside of basic body shape. "Excellent!" Thunder exclaimed. He turned to his two squad mates. "War Hawk, Mustang, go get the rest of the squadron, and get word to Canterlot to get some unicorns out here, inform them that we have two guests that need transportation to Canterlot. Tell them to have medical staff on standby." With a pair of salutes and affirmative calls, the two pegasi took off, rocketing through the trees.
Turning back towards Jorge, Thunder noticed that the biped had moved off several yards, and was examining a strange dark blue device. It was very sleek and elegant, and seemed to have the same color scheme as the other creature's armor. "What is that?" he asked.
Jorge glanced up at him for a moment before returning his attention to the object. "Type-51 plasma repeater. Covenant directed energy weapon." He pointed to the Elite. "It was his."
The royal guard didn't understand most of what Jorge said, but he knew what one of the words meant. He looked at the rifle incredulously. "That's a weapon?" It didn't appear to have any blades that he can see, and though it looked heavy, it didn't look as though it was designed with swinging in mind. The way Jorge held it reminded Thunder of a crossbow, but he could see no bow or bolt on it anywhere.
Jorge nodded, lifting it and taking aim at a large rock. "Watch." He squeezed the trigger, and a staccato burst of plasma rounds flew forth, impacting on the stone with wet slapping sounds, intermixed with the sizzling of melting rock.
Thunder's eyes widened, and he craned his neck forward with interest. "Wow. Magic? How did you enchant it to do that?" He asked, trotting over to Jorge.
Behind his helmet, the human raised an eyebrow. "No...it fires bolts of magnetically contained superheated plasma." The pony stared blankly at him. Jorge sighed. "It's just..." he struggled for the right words. Explaining things wasn't his strong point. "It's really advanced technology."
Thunder shrugged in response. "Oh. I wouldn't get it then, I don't think. Not really a scientific kind of pony. I don't ask how things work, just as long as things work like they're supposed to."
Jorge nodded. "There's a sentiment I can respect." Satisfied with his inspection of the repeater, he slung it over his back, magnetizing it to his armor. It was no heavy machine gun, but it would do for the time being. Hopefully he could get back to the crash site at some point and scavenge a more substantial arsenal.
Thunder eyed the rifle warily. Helping Jorge was one thing, but allowing him to bring weapons into the capital might not be the best decision. "Do you intend to bring that with you?" he asked, pointing a hoof towards the plasma repeater.
Jorge stared at him. Beneath his visor, his eyebrows furrowed. "I certainly don't intend to travel a strange land unarmed," he answered, his voice slightly barbed, as though he was insulted by the very idea of someone trying to relieve him of his newly acquired gun.
Thunder held back an exasperated sigh. This negotiation stuff was getting annoying. "Jorge, I can't just let you have an audience with the rulers of our land when you're carrying a weapon. That would be downright irresponsible of me." He thought for a moment before continuing. "If you want, we can hold it for you until we've deemed you trustworthy enough to return it to you."
Jorge sighed. The captain was right, of course. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask that he disarm himself before speaking with the rulers of a nation. That didn't make it any less inconvenient, but he deemed getting help returning home more important than carrying around a rifle. Jorge gave a single nod. "I can accept those terms, Captain Bolt." He drew the repeater from his back, and laid it on the ground in front of the captain. As he stood back up, he realized he still had the two pistols on his waist, along with another 3 grenades and a combat knife in his boot. He almost reached for them when he had a thought; there was no way the ponies would recognize them as weapons. He could easily hold onto them, keeping himself armed while also appearing to be compliant with the Equestrians. After a moment's hesitation, however, he pulled the weapons out, setting them on the ground with the rifle. He did not want to run the risk of upsetting what could possibly be his only hope in this alien world. "Take these as well."
Thunder raised an eyebrow at the number of strange looking objects that were now piled up in front of him. Though he recognized the knife for what it was, the other five items were completely unknown to him. He followed Jorge's hand as he pointed to the three small balls arrayed on the ground.
"Careful with those. DO NOT touch the red buttons," the human warned. "If you do by accident, throw it far away from yourself or anyone else." The pony gave him a questioning gaze. "They explode," Jorge explained.
The pegasus guard's face grew somewhat incredulous, but even still, he made sure to make a mental note regarding Jorge's warning. After all, if the massive biped had a weapon that spat scalding purple goo, he supposed that small exploding rocks weren't too far-fetched, either. With a tired sigh, Thunder sat down, letting his flank sink unceremoniously to the dirt. He winced as he felt a small rock dig into his fur, and flicked it away with his hoof. Jorge joined him, folding his legs in as he brought himself as far down to the pony's height as his huge frame would let him.
After a few moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence, Jorge broke it, asking, "So, how long until they're back?"
Thunder shrugged. "Not sure; this situation is rather unprecedented. I can't imagine it'll take too long though. An hour or so maybe."
Jorge nodded. "So what do we do in the meantime?"
"Well," Thunder said. "Why not tell me a little about yourself. Where you come from, who you are, that sort of thing. Give me a little background information. Might be easier to help you out if we know more about you."
Jorge considered it for a moment. It couldn't hurt, as long as Jorge minded what he told him. He stretched out, making himself comfortable. "Well," he began. "I'm from a place called Reach..."
"So, you were considered very special among your fellow soldiers?" Thunder asked,
"I suppose you could say that," said Jorge, giving a slight nod. "We did a lot of things that others considered impossible."
"Really?" asked Thunder, intrigued. "Like what?"
Jorge was quiet for a moment. He had been doing his best to answer Thunder's questions as vaguely as possible to avoid giving away secrets. Whether he was home or not, he still served the UNSC, and it was his duty to uphold all regulations and rules for as long as he remained in service.
"Much of it is classified, I'm afraid," he answered. "We were primarily special operations. There's a lot of black ink in my book, so I can't say much."
"That's alright, I know how these things work," Thunder said understandingly. "I have a friend in SpecOps. Can't ever talk about anything she does."
Jorge thought for a moment before he continued speaking. "I have a question for you, now," he stated.
Thunder nodded for him to continue. "Ask away. I imagine you're very curious about your new situation. Not really fair of me to be asking all the questions."
"Its about your rulers. Why are you taking me directly to them?"
"Its their policy," Captain Bolt explained. "They want to personally handle any and all first contact situations. They want to ensure that we have good diplomatic relations with any and all creatures that our kingdom may have to deal with."
Jorge frowned. "Isn't that risky? Bringing a completely unknown entity straight to your leaders?"
"Not as risky as you might think. The whole process is very tightly controlled. There's a whole company of Royal Guards on standby, just waiting for the word. It helps that the Princesses can handle themselves pretty well without us, too."
The sound of rustling leaves and snapping tree branches above the conversing pair drew their attention upwards as a pair of pegasi broke through the thick forest canopy and into the clearing, a rain of twigs and gently swirling leaves following them. War Hawk and Mustang slowed their descent, touching down lightly on the green and brown blanket of dead leaves.
Both ponies threw up quick salutes to Captain Bolt before War Hawk spoke. "Sir, unicorns are on their way, and there's a medical team ready to examine both of them." he stated, casting a glance towards Jorge as he spoke.
Thunder nodded in approval. "Good work. Be ready to guide the unicorns to our position. We'll be accompanying them and Jorge back to Canterlot." He watched as the two Pegasi lifted off, climbing back up through the trees as they went to greet the unicorns. He then turned back to Jorge. "We'll be leaving shortly. Are you ready?" he asked the Spartan.
Jorge cast a lingering glance at his weaponry strapped to Captain Bolt before looking the Pegasus in the eyes and nodding.
"Excellent." Thunder smiled reassuringly. He could tell Jorge was nervous, and that was worrying. A nervous soldier was often more dangerous than an angry one. Putting him at ease would be important in order to keep things relatively smooth. All he had to do was keep Jorge calm and not dump any unexpected surprises on him.
As if on cue, a series of bright flashes and loud pops erupted in the clearing. Caught off guard, Jorge whirled around to face the source of the noise with his fists up and his legs planted in a fighting stance. Thunder brought his hoof to his forehead in exasperation. Something told him that keeping the Spartan calm would be a taller order than he thought.
Jorge stared at the new arrivals before him, relaxing his stance and dropping his fists slightly upon seeing that these three ponies wore similar uniforms to Captain Bolt and his men. What differed about them, however, was instead of having a pair of wings, each one possessed a single horn protruding from the forehead. Jorge's eyebrows would be hard pressed to climb any further up his face. First pegasi, and now unicorns. Captain Bolt had mentioned the other pony races, but hearing about them was different from seeing them in the flesh.
The new ponies approached Thunder and saluted, stating their names and ranks. Thunder returned their salute and began to issue orders.
Jorge watched them carefully. He made note of their focused attitude and professional responses. These were well disciplined troops. That was good. It was a constant that Jorge could rely on. It felt comforting to have at least one familiar aspect of his life in this odd new situation.
The ponies finished talking and approached Jorge, Thunder taking the lead. The pegasus addressed the Spartan, gesturing to the unicorns. "Jorge, these ponies will transport us to Canterlot."
"How?" Jorge asked, glancing at the unicorns, then back to Thunder. "Wouldn't you be better at transporting us?"
"No." Thunder answered. "They're going to teleport us." The unicorns split up, one standing next to the Captain, one next to Jorge, and one walking over to the unconscious Sangheili.
Jorge's eyebrows furrowed. Teleportation was a common Covenant technology. He had never particularly care for it during the war. The idea of his body being broken down into it's constituent atoms didn't appeal to him in the slightest. Then again, he supposed he had just undergone the most extreme teleportation possible in order to get here. He gave a slight sigh of defeat. Fine. He thought to himself.
The Spartan glanced curiously at the unicorn next to him. He didn't see any sort of technology on him. How was he going to teleport them? His thoughts were interrupted as a strange light began to form around his horn. It had a glimmering blue sheen. Before he had time to think about this, a burst of blue light flashed into existence in front of him. Jorge blinked, and looked around. They were all standing in the exact same positions relative to each other, but their surroundings were brand new.
They stood in a large courtyard, the bright sunlight pouring down on them. A formation of ponies lay waiting for them, clad in ornate steel armor, polished to an impeccable shine. A single pony stood at the front, his armor painted a brilliant gold. Captain Bolt immediately approached the column, halting in front of the gold plated officer and conversing with him. Jorge watched as ponies clad in white clothes and bearing red crosses hurried over to them, one pair taking the sangheili away on a stretcher visibly straining under the massive weight, while a second pair approached him.
Jorge noted the stoic looks the medics wore, not batting an eye at the two massive aliens they had to tend to. However, their confidence seemed to slip slightly as they looked over the Spartan. The complete coverage offered by his armor left them nothing to inspect without removing it. Jorge smirked in amusement as he waved them off. "I'm fine. Thank you." The ponies hesitated for a moment, before nodding and turning away.
Mustang eyed at Jorge with a concerned look. "Are you sure you don't need medical attention? It looked like you took quite a beating back there."
Jorge shook his head. "I've had worse. Besides, the armor took most of the punishment. I'll be fine, they can take a look at me later." Truthfully, he was pretty beaten up. His body ached, and he could only imagine the colorful tapestry of bruises that would soon be painted across him. He definitely could use some treatment, but that could wait. He would be alright, and there were more pressing issues that needed his attention for the moment.
Thunder returned to the small group, the golden-clad unicorn trotting beside him. "Jorge, this is Major Quick Shot. He's going to take you to meet the Princesses shortly. My team and I need to fill out an after-action report."
Jorge couldn't help but feel a little bit disappointed. He had become somewhat familiar with the captain, which was nice to have in such an unfamiliar situation. Still, he was a professional, and he knew that Thunder had responsibilities to take care of. Jorge would get on without him. He nodded in response.
Thunder gave a small smile, then turned towards the major, saluting him before launching himself into the air with a flap of his wings.
Jorge watched him zoom away before turning his attention to Quick Shot. The grizzled pony had a few faded scars visible through his thinning fur, and a serious gaze. Jorge noted these with interest; the major was obviously a combat veteran, and not some softy who'd spent his career behind a desk. He respected that.
The major trotted up to him, raising a hoof. "Major Quick Shot, Equestrian Royal Guard. Welcome to Canterlot."
Jorge shook the outstretched hoof. "Thank you Major. Spartan Jorge-052, UNSC Navy."
The Major turned, beckoning for Jorge to follow him. "You'll be meeting the Princesses shortly, I'm sure Captain Bolt told you that. But before you do that, there are some standard security procedures we'll have to go through," he explained, strolling past the formation of Royal Guards.
"Makes sense," Jorge replied, nodding. He remembered overhearing Thunder mentioning "appropriate measures" when he had been speaking with War Hawk; these procedures must have been what he was talking about.
Jorge looked around as they walked, gazing over the walls that surrounded the courtyard and catching glances of tall towers and spires, painted in bright whites and golds. They looked to Jorge like they were straight out of a children's storybook. The two of them entered a tunnel leading through the wall as Major Quick Shot continued to speak. "The procedures will be fairly straightforward, and shouldn't take very long. Just a medical examination and psych evaluation."
"Nothing new there, Major," responded the Spartan. The UNSC always did like their little tests, especially when it came to the Spartans. It would be interesting to see how the Equestrian methods compared to the human ones he was used to.
They neared exited the tunnel, giving Jorge a clearer view of his surroundings now that they were outside the courtyard walls. The city of Canterlot rose up around him in colorful, cheery spires. He couldn't decide whether the strange architecture looked elegant or cheesy. The graceful shapes almost seemed exaggerated somehow, like something from a comic book. It was very odd.
The major pressed on, making towards the largest structure in the city, a castle made up of spindly turrets and bulbous roofs. It looked like a strange blend of medieval European and Arabic architecture. Jorge quickened his pace to match Quick Shot's brisk trot. "We're heading there?" Jorge asked, pointing towards the building.
Quick shook his head. "No, not yet. The Canterlot garrison is on the way. That's where you'll be undergoing the security procedures. After that, we'll head to the castle to meet the Princesses."
Jorge nodded. They continued to make their way through the busy streets of Canterlot. The human looked around, taking in the sights while noticing two things: one, that he was turning several heads as people gawked at the giant, armored biped. This, he expected. Hell, even among humans this was a common occurrence. Now matter where they were, Spartans drew stares. The second thing he noticed however, confused him; most of the equine citizens were ignoring him, not even batting an eye as they went about their business. Interesting...Jorge stored the thought for the time being. There were more important matters at hand.
Finally, they arrived at the garrison. It looked very out of place among the colorful, curvy architecture of Canterlot; the small group of buildings were square, gray, and utilitarian. Jorge found it rather comforting, glad to have a little bit of familiarity again. He liked being in a military setting.
The pair approached the main gate to the compound, where a pair of sentries saluted smartly. Major Shot returned their salutes, while Jorge stopped himself from doing the same out of habit. They passed through the gate, and entered one of the smaller buildings. Jorge noticed he didn't have much head room, and would have to be careful not to hit anything. As they entered the next room, the major finally stopped, turning to face Jorge. They were in a small office with a number of desks. Three more ponies in golden armor waited patiently for them, their expressions unreadable. "Please take a seat," said one of them, indicating to a chair in front of his desk. As Jorge began to sit, the chair creaked violently under his weight. The pony's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. Jorge opted to stand, placing his hands behind his back in a parade rest. He waited for the pony to talk, studying him. He was a white unicorn with a dark blue mane, a bigger build then most of the other stallions he'd seen so far. His face had become blank, giving no indication as to what he was feeling. The unicorn waited a moment before pulling out a stack of papers, reading over the top page before looking back up at Jorge's visor.
"So," he began. "Jorge, is it? What brings you to Canterlot?"
