How could it all go wrong so quickly? For once, I was relaxing or can I say having fun with my squad without having to worry about anything else. But as the king predicted, as death predicted, all those emotions came back like a snap of my fingers. 

Just like that, the Legion bots come in numbers. Just like that, I'm all alone, separated from the rest of my squad. And just like that, two of my friends are not just dead but died gruesomely. It all seemed to have happened with the sound of snapping fingers. Just like that.

My legs feel like jelly, running from hall to hall that seems forever endless. My dislocated shoulder rives the further and faster I run. We are all a triangle only held equally together by a joint diffidence to the pain.

Then I hear it, A soft but in my mind impactful scream that echoes throughout a hall, further down the line to the point where I can't tell where it started or where it will end. I know one thing though; the voice belongs to Joltxs. 

His voice is light but a thunder cracker when in pain. Even when the echoes fade away, my mind screams out his cries at maximum volume the further along I force myself to continue.

'You should have been there to protect him...why weren't you there?'

That's all my heart could ask me, and I couldn't give it an answer.

My legs rush to end both types of pain by throwing me into a utility closet. I make sure to close the door behind me as my body slowly crumbles to the floor behind it. The silence overshadows the area for a while for my shoulder to get a much-needed break, but not without pain soon following. 

The cracks my shoulder makes trying to put it back firmly into my socket are louder than any blaster bolt sliding in between a skull of metal or bone. Still, it does the job and I don't shed a tear; however, it still moans as I keep cranking it, making sure it stays in place.

I wanted my gasps for the air to be the loudest thing at that moment. Instead, I can't help but listen to the gut-wrenching sounds my hunters make, desperate to find their prey. I know all too well how they will search as my ears slowly rest on the cold metal door. To a sigh of relief, they are not in my hallway—but they are closer than I wish. My ears give all the visuals needed.

The bots always speak within their own robot language to one another, which makes them sound almost alien. It's no different as they shout to each other while stomping their feet on the concrete, opening doors to rooms, and kicking down boxes and crates. 

Their Lungers walk around, sniffing and wagging their tails into the wind for any fresh blood they might have slashed earlier. I know that Kactus will have his acolytes just swing their blades into the metal walls which screech at the touch.

 If my chest can't sink any further into my ribs, I am right. There isn't just one swinging blade, but three different pairs. Each one makes its unique sociopath symphony. One of their metal songs begins soon scratching at my ear, yet no stomps or growls accompany it.

This might be my only chance. I wait for their footsteps like a lion on the plains about to prey on a gazelle. Though my body shakes knowing that the tiniest mistake will have me end up like the majority of my men. My plan works without a hitch as I throw the acolyte's body into the closet just as mine once did. Unlike me, they spring up just as fast as they fell.

The acolyte who I see is not Kactus, has an oval-shaped helmet with fangs protruding underneath, and begins swinging their blade at me as if they are cutting airless bamboo. A few dodges in and I get a hold of their wrist, twisting it to what mine can allow. 

They grunt as the blade is dismissed from their hand. Immediately, I make sure to kick the blade further into the shadows before it can react. That leaves us to exchange many punches and jabs, trying to tear a hole in each other's defenses.

Their counters keep up but aren't fast enough. They only have one second to notice that I've replaced their shadow. Their neck then breaks gracefully in between my fingers and their body falls lighter than a feather. 

Staring into the now corpse, I notice the acolyte is male, about average built at best. Judging by his skills—he is no doubt a freshe out of their academy, and probably his first real mission.

My heart whimpers while replaying the whole ordeal in my head. It wasn't too long ago I was just like him, yet I wouldn't have been so careless even at his level. I don't know if the boy thought us weak or saw himself as that strong. Any acolyte should know not to underestimate their enemy. Think of them as stronger and most importantly—don't overvalue your abilities.

The mightiest giant can be taken down by any prepared boy with some stones.

That's what they used to tell me, although I'm not sure how many acolytes actually follow that rule. Either way, he chose to come down here by himself, and now, he rests in the corner of a utility closet. 

Still, I give him a proper burial by placing a blanket over him that I saw hanging in the same corner where he lies. I then brandish his blade and strap Bertha around my back. Its ends are sharp but crooked near its guard. Nevertheless, I bet it will go through bots like scissors through paper.

What can I say? Something about the swiftness and agility that blades can bring always makes my blood warm. I can feel the grip pulsating through my palm, itching on the inside for a singular slash. As if my past needed to remind me. This is more of my style and the blade knows it.

As if I need a test run—two bots come right around the corner, presumably supposed to be with the acolyte. I rush for the closest one and slice off their head. I do the same to a second one right before it can pull on the trigger. Their necks spray black fluid upwards like a water fountain. Unfortunately, I don't bother to silence their falls that sound like rocks slamming against raw iron.

From the echo, I can already see more bots coming down from the other side of the hallway. My eyes pinpoint for a moment a Lunger right beside them. I shake down the excitement building in my chest and don't stay to see its legs charge up for another feeding.

I speed down in the opposite direction, turning every corner to get away from their ramped stomps. They might be a hunk of metal, but they aren't anywhere near slow. My body keeps the distance just enough to have a few feet around every corner. Once my ears can't heed them, I stop to take a sigh of relief, having a feeling I won't be getting another one.

Scanning around, I appear to be on the second floor now, and judging by the few doors with a bunch of crates around, this is a storage hall. I hesitantly open the nearest one. It's an old room littered with unused parts, shrapnel, and garbage with a tiny window in the middle. Its cobwebs are the livest attribute. 

Only a few inches inside, the hairs on my arms stand up from my skin once more. I turn my back towards the shadows, and at a creak in the rusty floorboards, I have them with my blade resting a centimeter from their lip.

"Easy there, commander," a familiar drunken voice says, slowly bringing the blade back down to earth.

Taking a second to realize who it is, my body bolts for Hardcase's shoulders even though we both look like we can use a hug. I have so many questions, but in the end, only one comes to mind.

"Is Heavy with you?"

He muffles his presence from the shadows—however, I can hear the gurgling of blood that comes immediately afterward. I am glad to hear his voice, but I know for sure, that whatever conditions he is in, it isn't good. Hardcase shows me around a corner, hidden from the initial view too. 

His body is slumped along a wall, letting his back lay upon what looks to be crumpled-up paper and junk. His mouth drools out blood that becomes dry almost instantly leaving his lips. Then both hands clutch a towel that presses deep onto what I could tell was a hole near his chest. The hole is small but still leaks, even with his added force. At least the sight of me brings some slight color back into his face.

"I told you not to try and speak," Hardcase mutters, fluffing up his trash as if it were a pillow.

Still staring at his almost lifeless skin, I wish tears would come from my eyes to bring some color back to him. Nothing arises.

"How did this happen?"

Hardcase explains. "Once the smoker hit, Heavy and I got separated from the rest of you. We wandered the halls until a bloody Lunger pierced through his chest with its tail. It would've gotten his throat too, however, its claws shattered, hitting his scarf. Gave me a chance to smash it into a bloody pulp with what was left of the minigun. Afterward, it wasn't a matter of time until we found this place. Luckily, you found us before they did."

Even though my mouth remains a frozen frown, I think of Hardcase smashing the lunger into mangled black, leaving both its shattered pieces behind hoping it would melt it out a little. It doesn't come close. 

Even Heavy starts chuckling to himself although his are soft from a mouth barely hanging open. I doubt he thinks of the same funny thing I do as his soft chuckles become hysteria.

"To think you thought my scarf was stupid," he says letting out another soft chuckle.

I doubt he even knows what he is saying. His eyes can't reach mine without shutting down. Yet, his mouth continues chuckling like a booing ghost. In a way, I understand. A mind on the brink of pain needs something to hold itself together. I guess he's chosen the humorous route.

I bend down to his level, placing my palm on the towel. It seems to silence him; I just can't tell if it is from my hand's warming aura or the pain that the extra pressure causes.

"Hardcase is right. You shouldn't be speaking, save your strength."

He weakly swipes my hand with his while keeping his eyes on the ceiling. I know then that it's my time to tell them. I take my time telling them both everything from Cliff's fate to Joltxs silent screams. 

I was the only one standing high if I can even call it that in the end. Hardcase sits on a box, his hands over his bandana like a wishbone. The constant deep breaths are the loudest things coming from him now. Heavy only tries to fruitfully aim his eyes toward the ground.

I owe them a solution or at least some words. In response, my body walks around aimlessly back and forth, desperately seeking every file from every data bank I could muster, to give them something. Until deep down in storage, I piece together two situations that will have us live or die trying. With two possible revelations, I rush back to my sinking Ragtags from the opposite side of the room.

Heavy groans every time the blood that drips from his mouth hits the floor. Mirroring that, Hardcase starts groaning after each tear fogging from his hits the floor. They only get louder as he starts gripping reality in his mind. —that we all will soon be dead like his beer mates. Not if I have anything to say about it.

"All right you two, listen up." I gain their attention even though Heavy can't show it. "We can make it through this, we just have to keep leveled heads and think." My voice pauses. "We need to get Heavy patched up first and foremost; I recommend we go back up to the command post. It's not too far and there's a sizable med kit we can use to keep him alive a bit longer."

Hardcase looks bewildered at the notion of trying to make it to the third floor though my face assures him otherwise. Granted, the only reason I remember it is because of me dancing along with her into the soon-to-be moonlight. What I would do to hear the friskiness in her voice right about now.

"Wait...even if we can get to the third floor and patch up old Heavy here, what use will it be if we're just hunted down like corner rats?"

"We'll stall," I say firmly, "until backup arrives."

It takes him a second to realize what I mean. Once he does, his voice resembles his normal self.

"Ha-ha, you're bloody right...Lincoln. He should be arriving soon with a good portion of the 104th by now, yes.

My eyes give him a nod in approval. However, he remains dissatisfied.

"That's great, however, they won't know that something is up. Those acolytes want this place in tack. I bet they're cleaning up everything as we speak."

Sadly, he has a point. Acolytes aren't idiots or at least their commander shouldn't be. They need this place in tack one way or another. It's crazy to think that this place has been bloodless for so long. Now our blood is spilling back into the ground, so they need to keep it clean. All the blaster holes and the scuff marks might as well have been an illusion.

The inner voice in me is gagging on the fact that most likely they put Buzzards, Cliffs, and Joltxs if they cleaned him from wherever he was, into a dumpster. They deserve a proper burial, knowing their brothers buried them and lived to tell the tale. 

Whatever it takes, I'm prepared to keep that promise.

"Let's just give them a grand explosion to look for."

I toss Hardcase Bertha, his eyes pop out, and then he nods slowly to the idea we both know I have. He grins and gets to work. Our weapons, powerful as they are, are lucky not to fall apart at a single trigger. The Covenant's research was excessive yet in creating these toys; both sides were limited. The bigger the gun, the more of a ticking time bomb they are when overheated or tampered with.

Lucky for us, Bertha has a huge internal core to make quite a show. Hardcase takes no time making a ticking bomb out of the gun. As he does so, I bolt to the tiny window that leans down the side of the building and shatter the tiny remaining fragments of glass. The shattering glass appears to fall endlessly. 

Everything from rusty cans to highly flammable junk makes its way down below and feels the same. Hardcase finishes mere moments after I do. Bertha's black outer layer starts heating up while the blue plasma turns bright orange. Big Bertha, parting is such sweet sorrow. Thankfully, your sacrifice will not be in vain.

Boom

The building is coated in a swift earthquake as the explosion leaves a massive hole through the side of the building. The alarms start blaring their ghastly song throughout the halls while the sound of slapping metal scatters in many directions accompanying it. Our eyes can see this thing for miles. Let's hope Lincoln's eye can see just as much.

Hardcase and I exchange eye contact while we try to gently lift Heavy off the ground. He takes his shoulders while I choose his legs. He is like a hammock being carried by two running trees as we run down the halls with no bot's insight. Too bad Heavy is barely conscious to even acknowledge the ride.

Making our way to the third floor feels the same as the second. We pass through many hallways. However, while passing through one not too far from the post, only for a moment, my mind plays it in slow motion. 

An acolyte warrior stands smack dead in the middle of a passing hallway. By a glance, I can tell she's a female, tall and thin. She wields a blade with the end of a sickle within her right hand—though it is the way that her head tilts like a wimping flower that shakes my every bone to its core.

Underneath her helmet, I know she has a huge smile that wolves give once they find their prey. My legs, to Hardcase's surprise, dip faster than he can manage to keep up. The breeze that comes with my speed even wakes Heavy. 

Eventually, we toss ourselves into the commanding post, rush Heavy to the top where I once stood, and place him in between a 'U' shaped corner of monitors. Using one hand to rush for the med kit, the other pushes its limits trying to get the emergency door down.

It sounds like the first door as it slams down with a silent hint of relief. We aren't fools though. We all know that door will fall to a barrage of blaster fire. Thankfully, Hardcase is already working on Heavy. Whatever he tries to do only makes the blood spread further down his stomach. 

I eventually replace my hands with his which makes the process smoother once I get my bearings straight. I clean his wound until it stops crying blood, then stab it with a delaying pen. He gives out his loudest groan, but his breaths become normalized as the pen duplicates some of his lost blood. Only a temporary solution as it can only produce tiny amounts. Then he will start losing more. He needs a real doctor.

Both I and Hardcase continue trying to ease his pain until we all hear a hint of a filtered female voice coming inches away from the door.

"So, you choose to coward yourself like a bunch of cage puppies. How adorable." The sickle blade I know she is still carrying digs deep into the adjacent walls coming towards the door, tearing our ears apart. "Yet you wouldn't be the first puppy I found today, though I doubt your screams would be louder than that tiny little fellow I found earlier."

I already had the feeling, however, that confirmation has me and Hardcase's fist become heavy in white.

"To think I was just hunting normal prey. Until I saw a ghost of a lingering past. Wouldn't you say, Joseph?"

Her last words have my heart stop and my eyebrows buckle, even Hardcase turns to me in confusion though I'm not confused. I know why she knows my first name. My mind just doesn't want to hear it. Not now. Yet her voice after every word leads me closer toward the door like a fish to a worm.

"At first I thought I was looking at a dead man—but here you are. All flesh and bone." She pauses. "Tell me...is this what you chose to do? To play the make-believe hero you think you are? Let me guess so that you can save as many lives as you can from us, right? Only for you to go to rest every night knowing that all those lives you save, can't replace the one you failed...The one you let die?"

She has my white paper fist only a centimeter from the door. Only the sound of a shiny moon echoing throughout my head, at that moment, stops me from pounding. I remain still, letting the rising hairs of my arms taste the cold sheets of metal as she continues.

"Though, I wouldn't want to be so close to that door if I were you. It's going to be blasted in a moment," she says as if she knew I am the one right in front of her. "If you survive, then we will see each other real soon...Joseph Arrowson."

Her last words to me slither down my skeleton and leave my face frozen with bloodshot rage, yet another voice, that same sweet and tender voice as I remember it keeps silently calling to me. Telling me, it's ok. 

I can't help but let my fists fall after that.