In the sim-bay, the stench of scorched ballistic gel still hung heavy in the air. Wraith ran a gloved hand over his visor, clearing the digital residue of a near-perfect run. Weeks of grueling, uninterrupted training had hammered them into a sharper, deadlier instrument. And at the center of that refinement was Rook.

His movements were no longer just precise; they were fluid, integrated seamlessly with their own. Rook's "experimental ONI prototype" gear, especially the localized EMP burst, had proved invaluable in numerous simulated tight spots. His predictive analysis was uncanny, anticipating enemy movements before Shadow's passive scans fully resolved them. Ghost, who once watched him with overt suspicion, now moved with him in perfect synchronicity during stealth sequences. Even Viper, ever the cynic, admitted Rook was "damn good with a rifle, even if he talks like a synth."

Yet, for all the newfound combat synergy, the core of their distrust remained. It was a silent undercurrent, occasionally surfacing in a lingering glance or a shared, knowing smirk when Vance, their ONI handler, visited the mess hall. They trusted Rook's skill, his abilities. But his origins, his detached demeanor, and the constant, unnerving feeling that he was privy to information they weren't—those elements still gnawed at them.

The summons to Vance's private briefing room was terse, almost immediate after their last sim. They marched in, armor still warm from the recent exertion, the familiar metallic tang of the ship filling their nostrils. Vance stood before a holographic display, his usual affable façade replaced by a more somber, official bearing.

"Gentlemen, ODST Rook," Vance began, gesturing to the console. "New deployment. Priority one."

The holographic display flickered to life, resolving into a familiar planetary schematic. The world was dominated by a colossal, fractured green crystal, radiating faint energy signatures.

Onyx.

A collective, almost imperceptible stiffening went through the team. Wraith felt an icy knot tighten in his stomach. Viper swore under her breath, a low, guttural sound. Shadow's armored fist clenched by his side. Ghost's passive sensors probably flatlined with disbelief.

"Onyx went radio silent approximately seventy-two hours ago," Vance continued, oblivious to the ripple of unease he'd just caused. "All automated signals ceased. No distress calls, no enemy contact confirmed. Just. . . silence. We need to know what happened."

"With all due respect, Commander," Wraith began, his voice flat, "we just had a particularly... enlightening extraction from that planet's vicinity. The intel provided then led to significant unforeseen complications."

Vance's smile was thin, apologetic. "Lieutenant, I understand your reservations. But your team's recent performance, particularly your ability to adapt to fluid, high-threat situations, makes you uniquely qualified for this. And with ODST Rook's specialized capabilities, we believe you are the best choice to ascertain the situation on Onyx."

Specialized capabilities, indeed, Wraith thought bitterly. Like the ones you 'forgot' to brief us on last time.

"This isn't just about a downed Prelate, is it?" Viper challenged, pushing forward slightly. "You want to know what else is on Onyx? What we stumbled into last time?"

Vance's gaze darted to Rook for a split second, a telltale flicker that didn't escape Wraith. "We need comprehensive recon, Viper. The silence is troubling. It could be an internal Covenant development, a new Forerunner activation, or something entirely unknown."

"Or another ONI trap," Shadow muttered, loud enough for only the team to hear. Vance, however, seemed to conveniently miss it.

Ghost stepped forward, his tone detached but his meaning clear. "Commander, our previous mission data on Onyx, specifically regarding hostile force disposition and response times, indicates a significant disparity from the intelligence provided. For this mission, we require full, unfiltered access to all available ONI data on Onyx, including any previous deep-penetration attempts, Forerunner artifact analyses, or classified intelligence pertaining to the planet's true nature."

Vance hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the demand. "That's. . . extensive, Ghost. Much of that is highly classified."

"So was the information that almost got us vaporized by two Hunters and a dropship full of Brutes at extraction point two clicks east," Viper shot back, her voice low and dangerous. "We walk into another blind drop, Commander, and you'll be looking for a new team."

The air crackled. Vance held their gaze, then slowly nodded. "Understood. Full access will be granted to Lieutenant Kogen. Rook will assist with data parsing."

Wraith knew that Rook's presence was both the reason for the assignment and their only leverage. ONI wanted something on Onyx badly, and they were willing to risk the team that had already had a taste of its dangers, even if it meant giving them a little more rope.

"Prepare for deployment in T-minus six hours," Vance concluded, the hologram of Onyx glowing ominously. "Good luck, Helljumpers."

As Vance exited, the team turned to Rook. His black visor was still unreadable.

"You knew, didn't you?" Shadow asked, his voice low. "This was always the plan, wasn't it? Get us comfortable, then send us back to the site of the 'anomaly'?"

Rook remained silent for a moment. Then his filtered voice finally responded. "My assignment is to assist in mission parameters. ONI's strategic objectives are not always disclosed to all assets."

"Translation: Yes, probably, but he can't say it," Viper grumbled.

Wraith clapped Rook on the shoulder. "Doesn't matter now, Rook. We're going in. But this time, we're not just watching the enemy. We're watching everyone." He looked at his team, a steely glint in his eyes. "We go in, we find out what happened, and we come back. And if ONI's pulling strings again, they're going to regret it."

The team knew Onyx would test their skills, their endurance. But this time, the true test wouldn't just be survival against the Covenant or whatever Forerunner horrors lay buried. It would be navigating the treacherous landscape of trust, where even allies could be threats, and secrets were deadlier than plasma fire.

A silent signal passed between them. Ghost and Shadow melted into the general foot traffic of the Everest's corridors, heading for the armory to conduct meticulous post-mission gear inspections—a thinly veiled excuse to avoid further interaction with ONI personnel. Viper, with a curt nod to Wraith, disappeared in the opposite direction, likely to the mess hall for an uncharacteristically early and large meal; her way of processing stress.

"Rook," Wraith said, his voice low, "My quarters. Five minutes."

Rook gave another of his imperceptible nods and vanished, his movements as quiet and efficient as Ghost's. Wraith took a slightly more circuitous route, ensuring no one was following. No suspicious glances lingered too long. The ship's internal security systems were ONI's playground, and he wasn't about to give them any easy reads.

He reached his small ODST quarters. The air was stale, still carrying the faint scent of recycled oxygen. Inside, Rook was already there, standing by the console, his back to the door. He hadn't touched anything, just waited.

"You got the files?" Wraith asked, moving to the console and pulling up his secure terminal. Vance had promised "full, unfiltered access," a concession born of desperation and their team's reputation. Now, it was time to see if ONI had actually delivered.

"Affirmative, Lieutenant," Rook's filtered voice replied. "Transmitted directly from Commander Vance's secure server. Seems he was. . . sufficiently motivated."

Wraith began typing, navigating through layers of firewalls and encryption. The data streamed in, a torrent of classified information that dwarfed anything they'd ever received for a standard op. Planetary geological surveys, historical drop data, previous reconnaissance attempts—most of which had ended abruptly. And then, the true anomalies.

"This is new," Wraith muttered, scrolling through schematics of the Forerunner structure at Onyx's core. "They knew about the Dyson Sphere. Or at least, suspected."

"Suspected and confirmed," Rook corrected, his voice flat. "Early ONI probes detected anomalous energy readings decades ago. Classified 'Project Chimera.'"

Wraith scrolled further, his jaw tightening. "Chimera? As in, a mythical beast? They were classifying an entire planetary anomaly with a fairy tale name?"

"Disinformation protocols," Rook stated. "To obscure the true nature of the findings from unauthorized access. Even within ONI, knowledge of Project Chimera was tightly compartmentalized."

Wraith found mission logs from other ODST teams, listed simply as "reconnaissance incursions," all ending with "loss of contact." He saw the dates—some from years ago, some much more recent. No details on what they encountered. Just the cold, clinical record of units going dark.

"They sent other teams in," Wraith said, the words heavy. "Blind. Just like they almost did to us."

"The risk-to-reward ratio for deep Forerunner asset retrieval is exceptionally high," Rook explained, his tone betraying no emotion. "Expendable assets are factored into the equations."

"We're not expendable assets, Rook," Wraith growled, turning to face him. "We're people. With lives."

"Understood," Rook replied, his black visor still impassive. "However, from ONI's perspective, the potential strategic advantage of the Onyx anomaly outweighs individual personnel losses. Especially when such losses can be attributed to 'enemy action' or 'unforeseen environmental hazards.'"

Wraith slammed a fist softly on the console. "The 'unforeseen environmental hazards' that just happened to include Brutes and Hunters materializing out of nowhere, precisely when we completed our objective."

Rook was silent for a moment, then spoke. "The data indicates an adaptive Covenant response to deep-strike incursions. Their tactical AI systems may have been programmed to recognize and prioritize small, specialized teams, even before direct visual contact. The Prelate's death would have provided a precise location for their response force to converge, regardless of initial stealth."

"So they let us kill the Prelate," Wraith concluded, his voice low with grim understanding. "Knowing it would trigger a response. Knowing we'd be caught in the open during extraction. All to test their new toys, or confirm what they already suspected about the Covenant's capabilities."

"A plausible hypothesis," Rook confirmed. "The 'experimental prototype' EMP device I utilized during the simulation was, in fact, part of a counter-measure development program initiated after the initial reports of enhanced Covenant tactical responses began circulating. The timing of my integration into your team, and this specific mission, aligns with a pattern of data validation."

Wraith stared at him. "You mean they put you on our team specifically to test this theory? To use us as guinea pigs?"

"It is a logical conclusion given the parameters," Rook stated, still without inflection. "My skill set and the experimental equipment provided a controlled variable for evaluating the Covenant's adaptive capabilities. Your team's known effectiveness ensured optimal data collection."

A wave of bitter cold washed over Wraith. They weren't just soldiers; they were scientific instruments. The success of their last mission wasn't just a testament to their skill; it was a data point for ONI's cold, calculating strategic models. The near-death experience, the panic, the desperate fight for survival—all just "data."

"So," Wraith said, his voice dangerously quiet. "What else does this 'Project Chimera' data tell us about Onyx? Anything else they conveniently left out of our initial briefings?"

Rook tilted his head slightly. "The Forerunner structure on Onyx is designated a 'Shield World.' Its primary function is self-preservation, not offense. However, its defenses are formidable and autonomous. There's also evidence of. . . temporal distortions within the interior, and anomalous energy signatures that defy current UNSC understanding."

Wraith looked at the glowing schematic of Onyx on his screen, then at the silent, black visor of his new teammate. They were going into a place that ONI had deliberately shrouded in secrecy, a place where other ODST teams had vanished, and now they had a new teammate who was, in essence, an ONI-issued black box.

"Right," Wraith finally said, the word heavy with resignation and grim determination. "Let's dig deeper. If they're going to use us, we're going to make sure we know exactly what we're being used for this time."

The silence in the room stretched, filled only by the soft whir of the console and the unspoken understanding between the two ODSTs. They were going to Onyx. And this time, they were bringing their own truth.