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saratogaroadwrites · 11 months ago

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Per Aspera, Ad Astra (8/18)

Per Aspera Ad Astra | saratogaroad Rating: T Wordcount: 183k Characters: John 117, Cortana, Thomas Lasky, Sarah Palmer, Fireteam Osiris, The Warden Eternal, The Didact, The Librarian, ensemble of other Halo characters Relationships: John-117 & Cortana Other Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, fix-it, Male/Female Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence Warnings: War imagery, seizures, graphic description of injury

Snatched from the jaws of death, Cortana and John find themselves adrift in a galaxy that has long since moved on. As they attempt to find their place in this strange new world, they find that the fight is not as over as they thought. Chasing a signal across the galaxy in desperate hope, they come to a stark conclusion: the Reclamation has begun, and they are helpless to stop it.

"Warning: Intrusions detected in Hangar Bays A-2, A-5, B-8, C-4, D-5, and D-9. Intrusions detected on Decks 13, 29, 37, and 54. All personnel to battle station. Repeat: All personnel to battle stations."

The canned recording was the calmest thing for kilometers. The halls of the Infinity were in complete chaos; bullets flew from all angles as the Marines, Spartans, and security teams fought to defend their ship from the invading Covenant and Promethean forces. They took cover wherever they could, be it behind half open doors or jammed bulkheads, plasma and hard light scoring black above their heads. Cortana swore vehemently, forced to duck as a Knight nearly got lucky.

"Dammit!"

"Got you covered, ma'am!" Castle Lead called out, and with six shots from him and Castle 3 the Knight went down, "Majestic, where are those blast doors?!"

"Working on it!" Spartan Thorne shouted down, ducking beneath plasma fire as another dropship burst through the barriers of Bay A-2. "Kind of hard when I'm getting shot at every two seconds!"

Reloading her rifle, Cortana popped out of cover and shot at the Grunt that had tried to decapitate Thorne. It went down with a strangled shout, throat torn open by hard light. An Elite barked an order somewhere in the rear of the Bay, but even that was cut off by a round of gunfire, the Chief pinned down in the corner with Castle 2 and 4. He flashed a blue status query at her, one she answered with a green light. He returned his attention to the invading force, shooting down a charging Grunt. Two plasma grenades went live a second later, flaring blue-white light through the bay. The rest of their troop soon followed, felled by gunfire from Castle and Cortana before they could push too far into the hanger. A moment of silence fell over the room; the ground won over the past five minutes was still theirs.

For now.

"Majestic, the doors!" The Chief barked, reloading. A Phantom buzzed by outside, too close for the ship to ship defenses to safely take out. Cortana called on another hardlight shield and tossed it to Castle Lead, knowing his peering out of cover meant he was planning a move.

"Working on it, just give me another second—there!"

The blast doors lowered slowly, too slowly. Though the Phantom was barred from entering and disgorging more troops, it could still turn and shoot at them! Cortana ducked, hands over her head, as plasma seared into the bay. The shots went wide, striking the walls instead of her Spartans, but the heat still seared through the air. Alarms blared in her systems and she silenced them ruthlessly. With a heavy metal clang, the bay went quiet.

"Doors sealed!" Spartan Thorne announced. Everyone got to their feet, hurrying up the ramps. Bay A-2 was just one of the many places aboard Infinity that had been breached by either Covenant or Prometheans. There was no point in standing around here. The Chief looked over his motley crew.

"Majestic, hold position here," he ordered, "Keep the Covenant from retaking this bay. Castle, push up the starboard side and help Domino take back A-5. Cortana, you're with me."

Eight yes, sirs rang through the bay. The Spartan teams split up, hurrying to comply with their orders. Cortana paused only long enough to pass the Chief a hard-light shield of his own before she hurried after him. The corridors were just as full of Covenant as the hangar bay had been, and she had to hurry into cover as the Chief pressed forward. She pressed her back against the nearest wall, peering around the corner, only to have to jerk back into cover as a Jackal tried to get lucky while her partner was busy.

"Son of a—do they ever stop!?" She grumbled into the private channel, ducking back around the corner to fire off a shot through the small gap in the Jackal's shield. It reeled back, arms splaying wide, and fell clean over when a second shot pierced its head, dropping it where it stood.

"It's the Covenant," the Chief pointed out, lowering his rifle from where he'd taken the killing shot. He moved quickly to reload, steady hands not once faltering despite what had happened less than an hour ago. "They never stop."

She knew the type. "See a losing battle where there is one, then," Cortana scrunched up her face. Her sensors and trackers flared red as another squad of Covenant turned the nearby corner. Here they went again! "They have to run out of bodies sooner or later!"

Later rather than sooner, it seemed. Between the two of them and Fireteam Whiskey sheltering at a bulkhead further up the hall they were able to clear the corridor, but the sounds of other battles still raging all throughout the ship filled her comms-channels. If things kept up at this rate, they'd lose the Infinity before the day was out! She scowled to herself; they were not going to lose this ship!

"Roland, sitrep."

"We've got Covenant and Prometheans all over the ship!" He shouted back at her, frazzled, "I'm counting upwards of a thousand contacts scattered all over the place and—watch out! You've got incoming!"

"Look alive, Whiskey!" She shouted in SQUADCOM; four heads jerked up and six weapons opened fire as a squad of Knights and Crawlers dropped in on top of them. She had to hurry back out of the line of fire as the Chief pressed forward, hard-light skimming across his armor. There were so many Prometheans aboard the ship that the local area node was stuffed full of them, leaving her no room to push through and no way to call the Soldiers for back-up. She grit her teeth and pressed up after him, "Whiskey 2, watch your left flank!"

"Aye, ma'am!"

Bullets and hard-light filled the air as both sides exchanged shots. A rifle blast seared past her shoulder, EMP rounds carving a furrow out of her with a hiss. Miserable little—she slapped a patch on it and kept going, guarding their six. It didn't take long for the squad of Prometheans to go down swinging, hard-light scoring across walls and armor, but there were no Spartan casualties yet. She'd take it. Her radio crackled.

"Roland," Commander Palmer's voice was harsh, snapping across the line despite the warping static, "Roland, do you have eyes on the Captain."

"Negative, Commander—he was last seen on the Command Deck but my sensors in that area are still dark."

The Chief and Cortana shared a look, unsure. The all hands to battle stations order had been given before they'd boarded the ship with Majestic and Castle, but with the Captain currently MIA…the chain of command was clear and orders were to be followed no matter what state they were in. The only sign of the Chief's discomfort was how he shifted his weight, a blaring neon sign to anyone who knew how to look. She longed to shove him to Medical but shunted the thought aside. There was no time.

"Great!" the Commander exclaimed, "Does anybody have a clear route up to the bridge?"

Cortana called up the ship schematics on her HUD with a thought. A quick scan told her that everyone in this bay did, though it involve leaving the hangars and heaviest fighting behind to cut through the maintenance causeways nearby. She pressed her lips together, contemplated saying nothing for half a second, then shook herself off.

"We do, Commander," she replied. The Chief's voice echoed off the corridor walls as he gave orders to Whiskey, Franklin, and Venus as they came in from clearing the nearby bays. Majestic was still holding A-2 and Castle had bolstered Domino in A-5. They wouldn't take long to finish up. All other teams were to work their way through the bays and seal them up as fast as they could, clearing out incursions as they went. With any luck that would cut off the invading Covenant forces and give them time to clear out the Prometheans without getting bombarded with plasma. "The Chief and I'll head to the Command deck and extract him."

"Negative, Cortana" the Commander said, startling her, "I need you in D-9. Our glowing friends started popping in around that brick. Way I figure it's where they're coming from and I need you on site to help me take it down. Chief, meet up with Crimson and find the Captain."

For half a moment more the two shared a look, hesitating. She was loathe to leave him while his vitals were still so unstable and he wouldn't want to leave her now that they knew the Prometheans had weapons capable of damaging her. But what choice was there? Orders were orders. He looked at her, really looked at her, the wordless question of was she sure hanging between them. Was she? No. But this wasn't about her, or him, or them. Swallowing back her trepidation she nodded firmly. He sighed, returning her nod.

"Wilco, Commander," he said, his voice still rough. "Crimson, rendezvous at waypoint Alpha-7. Load up for heavy opposition. Cortana," A yellow flash told her he'd gone to a private channel and she looked back at him. "Keep your head down."

She read the worry in those four short words, her core torn between warmth and chill at how deep it went. She knew it would have been easier for him if she'd still been in his head, but this was how things were now. Turning on the vid-link, she smiled for him. It was all she could do now.

"You too. I'll see you when this is over."

With one more nod, he turned and left her. She waited until he had turned the corner into the maintenance causeway before turning and rushing down the corridor. Airlocks had been forced open by the Covenant, allowing her ease of access through to B block. B-8 and B-4 had been taken, but her path took her past B-2, leaving her reliant on pinging Infinity's already overloaded systems to check on the fireteams within. IFFs lit up in green, London and Hellfire still fighting their way through the incursion. The airlock to C-2 was off its track and she squeezed through, shooting down a Grunt that had somehow slipped past the marines that had managed to seal off the bay. They called out a warning for her to be careful up ahead, that D-Block was where the Prometheans were thickest, but she waved off their concern. The sooner she got there, the sooner this could end.

She had to get there. Fast.

She hit D-2 at a flat sprint and slid to a halt, skidding around a corner as her radio crackled.

"Cortana, ETA?"

"Two minutes!"

She just had to get down seven levels first. Hitting the maintenance causeway at a run she thundered down the stairs, ever aware of her motion tracker and the continuing sounds of battle all around her. Gunfire echoed oddly through the closed off tunnels, warring with her thudding footsteps and the racing of John's heart in her vitals monitor. It was too high even for combat, pressing the lower limits of a tachycardic event. The last place he should have been was in combat! She swore in the confines of her helmet and ran a little faster, blazing through the portable barrier that had been raised on D-8 to prevent passage to D-9 through the accessways. Alarms screamed at her to turn back and she ignored them, slamming her shoulder into the doorway that would allow her access.

She was going so fast that she nearly tumbled right into a Knight! It turned to shout at her and got shot for its trouble, bright orange head pierced by the hollow point round of the Commander's favored Magnum.

"About time you showed up!" She shouted over her external speakers, turning her back on Cortana. The bay was still sealed, entirely dark if not for the dim orange glow of the device, their combined headlamps, and the glowing skeletons of a dozen Promethean constructs scattered across the bay. "They won't stop coming!"

"It's a data transfer device," Cortana shot back, unable to stop moving or be turned into target practice. There was no cover in here! "It works both ways!"

"Great! Shut it down, will you?!"

She'd try. Trusting Palmer to have her back Cortana booked it across the width of the bay, dropping into a skid and grabbing onto the device with one hand to pivot on her hip and turn it into cover. The intrusion program instantly made another grab at her only to be slapped down again. Why couldn't these things ever take the hint?! She threw the device's programming wide open, taking in the massive amounts of data it was sending up to them. The dense code of the Promethean constructs had turned the flow of data back on itself, barring any more data from being sent down from Infinity. She raised every firewall she could get her hands on, but human code was just no match for Forerunner. They shattered beneath the arrival of a Major Knight, forcing her to duck or be shot in the head!

"Commander!"

"I see it!"

Leaving the targets to the Commander Cortana kept looking through the device. There had to be something, some way to get this thing to shut off, but how—wait. Wait, maybe if she—

Before she could finish the thought, alarms went off. A huge data packet was on its way up, bigger than any of the Knights and not registering as friendly to her systems. Not a Soldier but a new target altogether, one with code that pinged her systems as familiar.

"Oh no."

There was no time to react. Before Cortana could throw herself clear the device blazed to life, lifting from the floor and glowing bright as the mid-day sun. Her systems shouted at her in alarm as a slipspace rupture tore the air above the device wide open, the thousands of moving pieces that made up the Warden slipping through. With a loud flash and bang, the device dropped back down to the ground. Its impact with the deck floor was nothing compared to that of the Warden. The standing Prometheans all looked towards him, then vanished in flashes of orange light. They didn't want to take him on, Cortana realized. He was too strong for them.

He was too strong for any of them. As his buzzing presence pressed in around her, Cortana threw open the local area band and broadcast a wide distress beacon. Anyone within range would have heard it; she just had to hope there was someone within range to hear it at all.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" Commander Palmer spat, her faceless helm pointed straight at the Warden even as she fired one last shot into the prone Major Knight at her feet. "The new model?"

"I am the Warden Eternal," the Warden replied, turning his head this way and that, scanning the empty bay for threats. Finding none, he turned his attention to Palmer and said, "I stand in service to Cortana."

"Uh-huh. See," the Commander stepped towards the Warden, unafraid. "Cortana stands in service to the UNSC, and you're sure as hell not Navy made, pal. Care to run that by me again?"

The Warden took one step forward, getting into Palmer's space. Cortana stepped out from around the device and called a boltshot to her hand. He'd turned his back on her. She could shoot him in the back; not the most honorable of things to do, but she was past honor. If he went after another of her Spartans, she'd put him down herself! He paid no attention to her, choosing to stare down Palmer instead.

"You humans believe that because Cortana is of the Created, you have power over her? You would sooner have power over the sun." He scoffed. "Her time with you is at an end. I have come to collect her."

Cortana bristled. Collect her?! What, like she didn't have a choice in the matter?! With an unimpressed noise, Palmer shifted her weight, looking around the Warden and at Cortana. Through expressionless visors they shared a look that needed no translation. Who did this idiot think he was, coming to their house and making threats like that? No one she wanted to be associated with, that was for sure. She could hear Palmer's raised eyebrow as she spoke.

"Cortana, do you want to go with this clown?"

No. Never in a million years. "No."

Palmer nodded, then cocked her head up at the Warden. "I don't know about where you come from, but where I come from? When a lady says no, she means get lost!"

Quick as a flash Palmer brought up her pistol, finger on the trigger. Cortana reached out to shout a warning not to shoot but she was too late! Three hollow point bullets ricocheted off the Warden's shell, his head snapping back from the force, but when he looked down he was unharmed other than a few scuff marks. He heaved a great, put-upon sigh.

"Must you insist on such theatrics? Learn to tell when you have lost!"

The Commander's Spartan reflexes were all that saved her. Cursing harshly she leapt back as the Warden charged forward, but moving over two hundred kilos from a dead stop and out of the way at that range took longer than she had. Her thruster pack kicked on, sending her back, but not far enough; the Warden snapped out a hand and grabbed her by the ankle! Cortana bolted towards them.

"Warden, don't!"

"I will not allow them to hold you captive, my Reclaimer!" He shouted back at her, spinning and tossing Palmer straight into the wall of the bay. She hit with a hard clang and a breathless cry, dropping to the ground in a heap. The Warden took a step towards her and Cortana brought her boltshot to bear.

"Warden!"

He ignored her, stalking towards Palmer. The Commander lay stunned on the ground, her bell rung but vitals stable. She wouldn't be able to get up in time! Without hesitating a moment longer, Cortana pulled the trigger on her boltshot. The altered frequency wasn't enough to compensate for the weapon's low power, but that she'd shot him at all seemed to shock the Warden more. He turned around, his faceplates fully visible as his helmet retracted.

"You would come to their defense?" He asked incredulously, "Even after all they have done to you? All they would do?"

"Making mistakes is a part of being human." She shifted her weight, holding steady. She never lowered her gun. "I'm only going to say this once, Warden: Go find someone else to be your Reclaimer. My place is here."

"Here? Among these primitives?" He scoffed, not taking his eyes off of her even as Palmer began to rise, reaching for her gun. "The Janus Key is in your possession, and you have begun to master the gifts of the Domain. You no longer have a need for them."

"That's not your call to make. My place is here—my job is to protect them. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You were made for greater things than this, Re—" He paused, stopped himself, tried again. "Cortana. You cannot deny your true purpose! However laudable it may be, your compassion for mankind is misplaced."

I'm not doing this for mankind.

"Funny." Cortana raised an eyebrow, "The Didact said the same thing. Are you on his side or mine?"

The Warden paused for long enough that she knew he was considering his next words, and the dozen after that, very carefully. Just as well since she was ready to overload the boltshot and shoot him dead in the face if she didn't like what he had to say. Every second he stalled was one more second for Palmer to get back to her feet, too.

"Yours," He finally said, "I stand in service to you, Cortana. My pledge will stand until all has turned to dust."

Loyal and stubborn. A perfect match. She didn't dare lower her gun.

"In that case, you won't mind following a few orders, will you?" When he didn't reply she stepped forward into his space. "You pledged your service to me? Then serve. Go and find the Didact."

He stared at her, expression even more incredulous than before. She took another step forward, staying just out of reach.

"Find the Didact, and report his location to me when you do." She repeated. "I don't want to see you anywhere near this crew, this ship, or this planet unless and until you do, am I clear?"

The Warden made an odd noise, a server struggling to keep up crossed with a frustrated hiss. She'd just forced his hand; he could either follow her orders and prove his loyalty, or disobey them and prove he couldn't be trusted. It was nice to put the shoe on the other foot for once. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Am. I. Clear?"

The sound he made next could have easily been called a growl.

"As crystal."

Without another word, the Warden pulled his legs up. Like the Soldiers before him he pulled all his myriad of plates in to a single glowing sphere, the harsh light as bright as a star. He kept his focus on her until he was no longer there, leaving her without a target and with a clear line of sight to the doors.

To Osiris, their guns raised against a target that was no longer there. John's order flashed through her active process but there was no time to worry about that now. There were still Prometheans aboard this ship—her ship!—and they were no longer welcome!

"Commander, you good?!" She got a green light in response and spun back around, leaping for the device. "Everybody hang onto something!"

Before she could stop herself or be stopped by anyone else, Cortana slammed both hands down onto the device and opened herself to it. A thousand connections formed as she tethered every Promethean aboard the ship to her process and to the device itself through her. The intrusion program rose up with a triumphant sounding hiss, throwing itself at her. Prepared for it, she let it come. It wanted data, huh? Oh, she'd give it data!

Planting her boots firmly on the deck she dove into her core. Digging her feet in the sand, she faced down the nebulous orange and black cloud that was the intrusion program, spreading her arms wide.

"You want me?! Come and get me!"

It was too stupid to see the trap she'd set. The sea pulled back as she grabbed absolutely anything she could get her hands on. Forerunner data from the Domain, human data from the Infinity, it didn't matter. Untold yottabytes of the stuff were at her disposal. Shutting down her indexing system she stood her ground, waiting for the last possible moment. Behind the intrusion program, the sea began to swell into a single, massive wave.

Just a little closer…just a little closer…

Now!

The moment the intrusion program touched her code, she let the data fly. It all surged past her, the tsunami washing over the shore as she slammed the full weight of it all straight into the program and through it the device! They had both been built to withstand massive amounts of data, to turn calmly flowing rivers into rushing rapids, but nothing had ever been built to withstand the ocean. Everything connected to the device, both her and every bit of Forerunner code aboard the ship, screamed as white hot agony overloaded their systems. It surrounded her on all sides, pressure driving her to her knees. Every process screamed stop stop make it stop make it stop but she couldn't stop the tide. She wouldn't even if she could have!

All across the ship, Prometheans were falling, knocked over by the overload of raw data, and left easy targets. Knives of pain stabbed into her with each fallen Promethean, the salty water burning as it rushed past her awareness. It'd be so, so easy to let go, to let herself fall in with the flow and take it all in, but she refused! She would not fall again! She would not fail them now!

"GET OFF MY SHIP!"

The wave returned to the sea. The intrusion program had already been overwhelmed, destroyed by the flow, but the device tried to hang on a little longer. It was a futile effort. It bent under the weight of all the data she could throw at it, bending further and further until something finally—

Broke.

The connections snapped, leaving her on her knees in the sand, gasping for air. Salt water ran in rivulets down her frame, down the gentle slope of the beach and back into the deep ocean. There was no heart in her chest to pound, but she swore she could feel it beating at her sternum all the same, racing away like a startled rabbit. Out of breath and aching, she forced herself to her feet, turning her attention back to the physical world.

It had only been three seconds, her mission timer told her, but already things had changed. The device beneath her hands had transformed itself into a lifeless gray brick laying on one faceted side and the bay was lit up again, the overhead lights buzzing away like they hadn't spent the past fifteen hours and thirty six minutes turned off. Red alarm lights were flaring in the hall, the canned distress response blaring louder now that it had access to a hundred other speakers. Without the device to siphon power, the Infinity had reclaimed her bays with a solid get off my ship of her own. A swift, sharp ping to the systems gave her a headcount of IFFs and bio-monitors, along with the heat signatures of what few Covenant remained. The Marines were handling those just fine.

As for the Prometheans…well. There wasn't much left of them any more.

"Roland," She coughed, swearing she could taste copper at the back of her throat. "Roland, what's our status?"

"Prometheans just keeled over—Cor, what the hell did you do?!"

"I…" She had to close her eyes against a wave of vertigo. Armored boots thumped towards her from two sides, Palmer's quiet what the hell barely audible over the buzzing in her ears. Maybe she hadn't gotten off as unharmed as she'd thought. "I gave it what it wanted. Not my fault it couldn't hack it."

Roland said something else but she didn't hear him. The buzzing in her ears had gotten louder, an overwhelming static that she'd have almost attributed to the Warden if she hadn't known he was gone. It played havoc with her balance, turned her single step away from the device into a graceless topple to the side. Someone shouted as she fell, but before she could hit the deck an arm hooked around her midsection, holding her up.

"Cortana!" Palmer hauled her to her feet, "Steady, steady—I am not explaining to the Chief how you broke your nose, okay?"

Exhausted and dizzy as she was, Cortana couldn't help but laugh. She patted her Commander's titanium plated arm, the sound echoing hollowly. With a sharp smack to her own workings, she forced her systems to reboot.

"I'm fine. Just…give me a second."

"Take your time. That was one hell of a stunt you pulled, but…" Palmer shook her head, whistling low. She helped Cortana to sit down before looking around the empty bay. "You two sure know how to get a job done."

That they did. With a pat to her shoulder, the Commander left her sitting on the deck, knees splayed and hands flat to the cold metal floor. Cortana closed her eyes, initiating her self-repair protocols to handle what had been damaged by the rush of data. Other than what really could have only been called exhaustion and light bruising, her systems were intact and would be fully repaired by the end of the shift. It was nothing she couldn't fix, but the process she had left behind in John's suit was staunchly refusing to reset. After it failed to reboot for the third time, she growled and opened the channel.

"Chief, do you copy?" Static. Her core abruptly lurched. One process reached out to Infinity and found him on the bridge but another call got the same response. Nothing. Her chest grew tight. "Chief, please respond."

Nothing. Something was wrong. He'd have called her himself if he could and that he hadn't—she had to get up there.

"Lasky to Infinity. All hands: we are condition yellow. Stand down." the Captain's tired voice rang through the PA system and every radio aboard ship. "Medics to your stations. Section heads, report in. Get me a headcount ASAP."

"You heard the Captain, people!" Commander Palmer barked across the once again clear SHIPCOM channel, "Let's clean this mess up! Engineers, make sure we're air tight. Marines, report to your squad leaders. Fireteams reconvene on S-Deck 2 in twenty minutes."

Leaving the Commander to her orders, Cortana pushed herself up on her hands. Before she could try to rise from the floor, an armored hand appeared in the corner of her eye. She looked up to find Locke standing beside her, offering a hand to help her to her feet. Most people wouldn't have been able to read his faceless helmet, but she'd spent half of her life reading the most stoic of the IIs. Locke could keep no secrets from her: his hand was an open offer of support, and she reached up to take it.

"You green?"

"As green as a sick person can get," She snarked back tiredly, letting him haul her to her feet. He held her steady as she swayed, balance still on the unsteady side. "Sorry you came all this way for nothing."

"We were in the area," He glanced at Palmer as she made her way out the door, ordering Osiris to fall in behind her. Neither said a word about how badly things may have gone for her had Cortana not stepped in and talked the Warden down. He turned his attention back to her, head tilted five point eight degrees to one side. "You didn't hesitate. He could have easily torn you apart if he wanted to."

"He could have," She agreed, "But he'd have torn the Commander apart if I didn't. I knew he'd listen to me so I just did it."

It was only partially a lie. She hadn't been sure he'd listen to her, not a hundred percent, but when the alternative had been to watch her Commander die…there had been no other option. Any one would have done the same.

It didn't matter now. She had more pressing things to deal with, and unsteady or not she needed to get to the bridge. Make sure John hadn't gone and damaged himself or his suit somehow. She reached out to the process again, getting more of a whole lot of nothing. Ooh…if he'd gone and gotten himself actually shot, she was going to—going to—!

"Cortana," Locke's hand brushed her arm as she stepped past him, not to steady her uneven gait but to stop her from going. "There's something you and the Chief need to know."

Well that wasn't ominous at all. She turned to look at him, but before she could ask what he was talking about, Roland's frantic voice broke across their connected process.

"Cor! Cor, you need to get to Medical—the Chief's down!"

A wave of red spread across the galaxy, ripples expanding in a pond. The mathematics were without flaw; each wave of power touched the next, growing exponentially in power. Sensors told of its passing, world after world after world scrubbed clean of life and parasite alike. Bias had tried to stop them, been turned and then turned again, but none could stop the tide.

Not even his own people had been able to stop this. Had it been inevitable? Had they clung too tightly, refused to let go and allow those who deserved it to step into the sun? He'd spent too many nights awake asking himself those questions, though he supposed the answer would come sooner rather than later now. His people were gone, he and two others the last of their kind. What came of the galaxy now…that was up to those they left behind.

At least they still had a future to reclaim.

With a heavy sigh, he bowed his head. Warmth floated up alongside him.

"It is done."

"It is done," She repeated, laying her hand gently over top of his. She squeezed once in comfort before pulling away, clasping her hands at her front. "The scanning craft have already departed. They will ensure that the parasite has been eradicated before the seeders follow behind."

"And if it has not? If they find it yet lives on other worlds?"

"Then all of our plans and losses have been for nothing. Our battle is over." Her voice grew heavy with loss, regret, and grief. He looked and her and found her eyes upon the image of the Epoloch system, her husband safely hidden away and awaiting his own Reclamation. "Our battle has long since ended, my friend. It is time for peace."

"Were we made for such things?"

"No." She admitted softly, "But we may find it yet. Come." She turned to leave. With one last look at the display, he followed her away from the terminal. Sentinels flew past, escorting Constructors. They would care for this facility in case need of it came again, though he hoped it would sooner fall away to rot than even be needed again. The manifestations of the seven rings hummed as the two of them walked past, each singing a different note. It was almost comforting to walk among their music, the last song of his peoples. Some small part of them would remain.

He still found himself regretful all that would remain were weapons. He shook his head with another sigh, and she glanced at him.

"I hope you do not intend to enter the Imprint in such a mindset," She chastised, "Or those who inherit it will inherit your foul temper as well!"

"Ha!" He barked with wry amusement, "Perhaps those who inherit could benefit from a bit of realism." She looked unimpressed. A smile tugged at his lips and he shook his head. "Who do you intend to gift it to? Not the Unngoy, I would hope!"

"No, no," Now it was her turn to smile and shake her head, "I think I will seed it amongst the humans. They will need guidance as they reclaim their lost future. The one who inherits it will be a great leader for their people, one I am sure will use it well. They may need a bit of…help, however." She eyed him knowingly as he opened his mouth. Time and again he had asked her about the end result of her plans, and time and again she simply smiled and said that was for the future to know. Even now at the end of their time, she held onto her secrets. He stifled the urge to stick out his tongue at her, long past such childish gestures. Mostly. "I will be joining the seed-ship to Erde-Tyrene when the Imprint is complete."

All amusement faded from his heart. This was to be the last they saw of each other, then. His heart ached fiercely, already keenly feeling her loss. She had been friend and confidant for many long years now. He would miss her as one missed a limb, and he knew she would feel the same. Her eyes were dark, her smile soft and wavering at the corners.

"And what of you? Where will your plans take you?"

"I do not know," He admitted. "I had thought to travel to Requiem and await his awakening, but if my Imprint is to be seeded among the humans, I am certain they will find him in due time. It is…freeing, in a way." They passed the high note of Installation 02, the five behind them having gone dark. The sun was setting, casting a stark red-orange glow across the chamber. It looked too much like blood for his peace of mind. "I believe I may retire to some quiet world. Take up farming, perhaps."

Though she laughed, there was no reproach. "It suits you. Perhaps I will come and visit, if there is time."

"I would like that very much."

There was little left to say. The pair walked in silence to the lift and he looked back one last time. All seven manifestations had gone dark, the Rings purpose met. Now they would sleep until such a time came that they were needed once more. He hoped that day never came. She lay a hand on his arm, pulling him away from their past and towards the uncertainty of the future.

"Come, Bornstellar. There is still much work to be done."

"Yes," He looked up, and for just a moment looked someone else in the eye. Though a hundred thousand years stood between them, for just a moment, he and John stood face to face. A paternal smile lifted the old Forerunner's mouth, pride coursing through his veins. What a wondrous turn of events this was. "That there is."

There was no pain. That was his first thought. The sharp stab above his eye, the body-shaking ache of whatever had happened in the facility, the usual dull aches and pains of his augmentations. They were all gone, replaced by a soft, fuzzy weight that pulled down his limbs and his eyelids. It took a few precious moments to realize it was pain medication. That meant either his suit's medical suite had activated, or he was in the Medbay.

If the beeping off to his right was anything to go by, it was the Medbay. Slowly, with effort that felt more monumental than it really was, he pried his eyelids open. Dull gray ceiling tiles stared down at him, the overhead light dimmed to sleep-cycle brightness. What time was it? The lights to the side and ahead were still on, so it couldn't be that late? How much time had he lost? Evidently enough to get out of armor and into a bed. One hand skimmed across the sheets as he tried to recall what had happened, the pulse-ox monitor on his index finger sliding across the stiff fabric, but his memories were as fuzzy as the rest of him. He'd gone to the Command deck, found the Captain fighting off Prometheans. They'd joined up with a squad of Marines and retaken the bridge, and then…what? It was all a blur after that. He'd been keeping an ear on the private channel in case Cortana needed him and then—

Cortana!

He jolted more awake, a shot of adrenaline banishing the fuzz in his brain. Where was she? He had to find her, make sure she was alright! He couldn't stay in bed! He had to get up and—

He couldn't get up. There was something on his left hand, and when he looked down he stopped.

He didn't have to go and find her after all. She was already right there, bent over the bed with her head pillowed on one forearm and both hands holding his between them. She almost seemed asleep, a steady electric hum covering her soft breathing, her head angled downwards so that her forehead was pressed up against what her fingers couldn't cover. Hair drifted across his fingertips as she shifted in her sleep, softly brushing across the sensitive pads. He hadn't known hardlight could be soft.

Before he could think of how to wake her, she shifted position a second time, grip tightening on his hand as she slowly lifted her head. No doubt in tune with his vitals she blinked up at him, a soft smile spreading across her face.

"Hey."

"Hey." He looked her over. Her coat was gone, leaving only the thinly armored softsuit behind. She looked…good. Tired, but relieved. Unharmed. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Sleep well?"

"No thanks to your snoring," She quipped, "But yes."

With no else around to see it, the corners of his mouth lifted a little more. He watched as she sat back, rolling her shoulders in a stretch without letting go of his hand. The lights remained dim.

"How long was I out?"

"Four hours and counting," She replied, shaking her head to settle her sleep-mussed hair. He stared at her as she blew a lock out of her eyes and continued, "Dropped like a rock. Scared the Captain half to death."

Scared her half to death, said the tightening grip she had on his hand. Without drawing attention to it, he shifted his fingers to hold hers tight. He was here, he was fine. She knew that. She had to know that.

"What happened?"

She hesitated. For one second, the space between heartbeats, she couldn't say anything. Worry sank into his belly, pulling it down towards the deck. She pressed her lips together, guilt stealing across her expression. It thickened her voice when she finally spoke up.

"According to the engineers and armor techs, your suit overloaded. Your SNI shut the connection to keep you safe, but it had to knock you out to do it," She said quietly. Her eyes flickered from him to their joined hands. "…It overloaded because I overloaded the Forerunner device in D-9 to kick the Prometheans out."

So she'd saved them all again. No surprise there, he thought. She was good at that. But why the guilt? He was fine. He tilted his head, trying to catch her eye.

"It worked?"

"It worked. But, Chief," She looked up, "The way I overloaded it? Only affected Forerunners. The Prometheans, me—"

He sat up. "Are you alright?"

"I'm not the one who was unconscious for the past four hours!" She shot back. He opened his mouth to tell her that his suit had no Forerunner technology only to stop hard.

His suit had no Forerunner technology. He'd purposefully chosen the modular parts because they were familiar, what he knew, and that wasn't Forerunner. She'd said that the technicians had been the ones to say it had overloaded. She was saying something entirely different. His already sunken stomach twisted.

"The suit didn't malfunction."

Very slowly, she shook her head. Carefully freeing one hand, she reached over to the small stand beside his bed. The tablet beeped as she turned it on. Balancing it on the bed, she turned it to face him. He skimmed the information quickly; a comparison of genetic data and basic scans from now and October of '52. There were marked differences between the two, enough that it had flagged the system as being two different people. That sort of difference could only come through extensive genetic modification.

Like a Genesong? Brow furrowing he read over it a second time. She waited patiently for him to finish, still holding his hand, and when he looked up at her again her eyes were dark. She'd seen the same things he had. No doubt she'd come to the same conclusions, too.

"The Librarian called it a Genesong," he said slowly, feeling out the words as he went, "Accelerating my evolution. Genetic modification." He glanced at the tablet. Not just modification, but what looked to him like a total overhaul of certain sections. Rewriting the firmware while leaving the hardware mostly untouched. Did this explain the dreams? The presence in the back of his mind? "It fits."

"It fits, he says," She frowned at him, "Chief, I don't think you understand how invasive this is! She manipulated your DNA at the most basic level, rewrote it from the ground up! Half of it isn't even baseline human anymore!"

"I told her to do it."

"You consented to one contextually relevant gene modification in a combat situation," she hissed furiously, glow reaching incandescent levels in her righteous anger, "Not a rewrite of your entire genetic code!" Flipping the tablet back around she tabbed through the data. "Sensory enhancement. Skin, muscle, and organ durability increased. Increased bone density, increased oxygenation of red blood cells, enhanced compatibility with your augmentations! Additional neural pathways and brain activity! The list goes on and on and on, and that's—" She tossed it onto the bed, "That's without going into whatever's going on in your brain that lets you read Forerunner glyphs, and a few dozen more things I'm still piecing together! How is any of this remotely okay?!"

Because it meant that they'd been able to stop the Didact, even for a short while. Because it meant that he'd lived long enough to get her to safety. Because it meant that he was still alive, with her, and they were both safe. Everything else they could handle. The true weight of what she was saying tried to settle in over his bones, but he shook it off and squeezed her hand.

"It's not the first time someone's modified my body without my consent," he pointed out, taking the wind right out of her sails. She sagged in the chair, glow fading back down to normal levels. He shook his head. "It's okay. It had to happen."

"Did it?" She asked quietly, "Chief…" She closed her eyes. He watched the dance of light up and down her throat for a few moments as she gathered herself. What she said next was not what he expected. "Back down with the Key, after you woke up…something scared you. You noticed something, and it scared you." Opening her eyes, she held his gaze. "This is not okay."

He looked away. There had been no time to think about what he'd felt in their mad dash back to the surface, or on the ride back to Infinity, or during the fight to retake their ship. But now that she'd mentioned it, the weight in the back of his mind returned. A heavy presence, it sat there like a boulder in a pond, taking up too much space that didn't belong to it.

Didn't belong to him.

The contrite feeling returned, sending a shiver down his spine. It—he—would leave John be. It was an adjustment, one that humanity had had no need to face up until now. He would be here if he was needed but had no desire to cause any upset. Only to offer what support he could and—

"Chief?"

He looked back at his partner, anchored by her firm grip on his hand. He took a deep, steadying breath, and let it all out through his nose. It would be easy to say that nothing was wrong. That he'd just had some delayed reaction to the episode and had felt something that wasn't there. She might not believe him, but she'd accept that he didn't want to talk about it and not push it further. She always understood when he couldn't speak about something and he adored her for it. She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

But that also meant that she'd know something was wrong and she would worry. She'd spent too much of her life worrying about him to wonder in the dark any longer.

"After I woke up," He said slowly, testing each word behind his teeth before he said it, "I had a feeling in the back of my mind. Someone else was there."

"Someone? Or something?"

"Someone." The Didact. No, not the Didact. The Librarian had called him by a different name, but the face was what had been really different. The bearing, the set of his shoulders. The Forerunner he had seen in both war torn fields and darkened control rooms, the one that had plagued his dreams ever since leaving Requiem, that was Bornstellar. The longer he thought about it the more differences he could see between Bornstellar and the Didact they had faced in combat. Maybe Didact was a title? Yes, yes it was. The presence—Bornstellar—shifted a bit around the edges of his mind. The Librarian had called it an Imprint. It felt like a second person in his mind. He almost shivered. "There was. I had another dream just now." She made a soft sound, wordlessly telling him to go on. "The Librarian was there, and she was talking to another Forerunner. Another Didact, I think."

"Huh. So it's a title, not a name. A rank." She hummed. "Makes sense. Go on?"

"He had just fired the Halos. They were talking about their plans, what they were going to do now." Now that they were the last of their kind still alive. Now that they had an entire empty galaxy to live in. Her regret had been palpable, his so deep it still rang through John's bones. It hadn't been a dream so much as a memory, he realized. A now shared memory. "She mentioned something called an Imprint. That humanity would inherit it and it would…guide them, somehow. Guide them as they reclaimed their lost future."

"Reclaimed, huh?" She rolled her eyes. "Of course. Okay, so," She tilted her head back. "So, this Genesong that she unlocked in you rewrote your genetic sequence, enhanced your physical and mental capabilities, and dropped a…what, a personality image into your head?"

"Something like that."

He didn't mean John any harm, that much was obvious. He could easily tell where he ended and Bornstellar began, but there was no real way to speak to him. The divide between the two was too foggy, memory and concept mixing together into vague feelings and emotions, half-formed memories swirling around like stellar gasses in the void. It was all too clouded to make out, and trying to focus on it made his head hurt. Was Bornstellar's Imprint what had allowed him to read the glyphs before she could? Was it what had told him how to manipulate the Key when he shouldn't have had any idea how to? Probably. He pulled his focus away from it.

"I don't think he means any harm."

Cortana raised both eyebrows. "He?"

"She called him Bornstellar."

"He could be called the next best thing since a MAC gun, he's still an uninvited guest in your head." She blew a short and sharp pfft through her teeth. "Librarian's earned herself a punch for this."

Her righteous anger was coming back. Touched, he fought down a smile.

"Cortana."

"What?" She pulled a face. "Don't say this is okay, Chief, because it's not! What if it were me? What if her changes to my code hadn't only given me a shell, but suddenly put someone else in my head? Would you be okay with that?"

Absolutely not! He scowled only to realize he'd walked right into her point. Rather than getting smug about it she arched an eyebrow, leaning in close. Her voice softened.

"Why is that what's okay for you to go through isn't okay for me?" Her thumb began to stroke across his knuckles, her touch gentle. When had anyone last treated him with this sort of care, he wondered. Besides her…he couldn't remember. No one, really. And maybe it was just the pain medication dulling his edge, but his chest grew tight and he had to swallow hard. She didn't call him out on it, or ask for him to say anything. "You're allowed to have feelings about this, you know. It's okay to admit that you're not okay with it. The galaxy's not going to fall apart just because you have an emotional response to something that would send others running for the hills."

Not the galaxy, but maybe he would. He'd seen marines—some of the best the UNSC had—fall completely apart when their emotions overwhelmed them. He couldn't do that. He couldn't let himself go that far. They were all counting on him to keep it together and see the mission through.

She was counting on him to keep her safe. That—she—was all that mattered. He'd be fine.

"It's fine," He said, and when she sighed heavily he found he couldn't look at her. Didn't want to face the disappointment he was sure would be there. "Don't worry about me."

"Little late for that," She said, thumb stilling. Her eyes filled with concern and determination. "Do you want him gone?"

He should have said no. Bornstellar's presence was another weapon in their fight against the Didact. He was old, old enough to have known their enemy, and they could use that to learn his tactics, his weaknesses. It would give them a fighting chance and to turn it down would be a mistake they couldn't afford to make. He opened his mouth to say that but found that he couldn't. The words caught in his throat, lodging tightly. He swallowed hard, tried again. They just wouldn't come out! He sat back with a quiet huff and looked away, trying to piece together why he couldn't say no.

He wasn't exactly happy about sharing his head with someone who wasn't her, no, but his happiness was irrelevant. He was a soldier, a tool, a weapon of war no different than the Soldiers under her command. What difference did it make so long as he accomplished his duty? Besides, the old Forerunner's presence was so distant most of the time that it didn't even feel like he was there. As far as he could tell there was no meshing of personalities, no fears about losing what sense of self he had. His memories were the clear ones, not Bornstellar's. Now that he knew the Imprint was there, they could use it! That was a good thing.

But the longer he thought about it, the heavier it sat in his stomach. It was a tool, one they'd be stupid not to use, but it was racked in his head. He hadn't asked for it, hadn't known it would happen. He hadn't known the truth behind his augmentations, hadn't asked for them either, but without them and without the Spartan II program there would be no humanity to protect. It was the same thing…wasn't it? It didn't feel the same. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, beyond that. Swallowing around his suddenly dry mouth, he took a deep breath. He was overthinking it. Did he want Bornstellar gone from his head? It was a simple question with a simple answer. He turned to Cortana and said the only thing he could.

"Yes."

It was all he needed to say. Her eyes softened.

"Okay." She squeezed his hand. He almost clung to her fingers, a drowning man seeking an anchor. "Then we'll get him out—I'll find a way to get him out. It's going to be okay."

Of course it would. She was there. So long as she was there, everything would be fine. So long as he didn't lose her, didn't fall so far behind that she went on ahead without him like the rest of the galaxy, he'd be fine. That was the heart of the issue, he realized. He couldn't be left behind because it meant he couldn't protect her, help her, and if he couldn't do that…He couldn't lose her, too.

"I know."

It was as close to admitting that something was wrong as he could get right now. She knew that, understood it, and didn't push him any further. They stayed like that, sitting in the quiet and the dim light, and said nothing for a long time. He would have been content to stay like that forever, but the outside world pressed too close. They had the Key, they had the Didact's location. Now it was just a matter of getting there.

"What are we going to tell the Captain?" He asked her, unsure. She blinked at him, confused. "We have to brief him on what we learned with the Key. We should tell him about this, too."

"We should, but…" She tilted her head. "If we do, they'll bench you. Something tells me we don't have the time to wait around for the UNSC to put the pieces together, and if Halsey's not an option…" Her eyes fell to the tablet. "Maybe we don't say anything."

He looked to her. "It's going to show up on medical scans."

"Not necessarily. The usual post mission scans don't pick it up because the changes are on a genetic level. I had to actually go looking for them with some pretty specific gene sequencing. Not even Dr. Delgado would order those tests without a reason. If we're careful…" She trailed off, stopped, then said more slowly, "If we're careful, and if we keep an eye on things…they don't have to know."

"If it causes another seizure?" He had to ask. When he weighed his need to be there for her against putting her at risk, the odds were too high. This must have been how she'd felt when her Rampancy had been getting worse, he realized. His voice softened. "We got lucky this time. Next time could be worse."

"It could, but it's never happened before. Manipulating the Janus Key must have kickstarted something. Or it could have been like putting your finger in a light socket." She eyed him knowingly. "Maybe leave touching the Forerunner bullshit to me from now on, okay?"

"Cortana…"

"I know," She said, and squeezed his hand again. "I know. I've set a process to keep watch over your systems so we'll be ready if it happens again. If it happens again, then." She took a breath. "Then we'll deal with it then. But for now, I don't see a need to tell them. Besides," She smiled cheekily at him, eyes dark with worry. "You didn't give up my secret. What makes you think I'm going to give up yours?"

His heart swelled in his chest, warm in ways he didn't know how to name. Gratitude, relief, understanding…they all flowed through him, warming him from the inside. Her faith in him was unshakable, and he couldn't tell her how grateful he was for that. He didn't have to. She already knew. As if she could read his thoughts—she probably could, even now—her smile softened. There was no need to say anything because they both already knew what there was to be said.

But some part of him, some small, almost forgotten part of him, needed to tell her. She deserved to hear how much she meant to him, but when he tried to gather the words they slipped away like sand through his fingers. The frustration at himself was his own, at least, and he took a breath.

"We'll have to debrief the Captain in the morning," He said, because it was easier to focus on the next task that needed finishing than trying to find the right words. "Now that we know where the Didact is, we can't waste any time. We have to get after him."

"And we will. Later." Cortana said, her eyes dark and liquid in the dim light. Rising to a half-standing position, she leaned over his bed to gently press her palm to his cheek. He leaned into her touch with a quiet sigh. Her voice softened. "You should rest while you can. I'll keep watch."

Slowly, unsure of if he'd ever rest again knowing there was someone in the back of his mind, John closed his eyes. Her hands were warm; the one on his face moved up to skim across his head, fingers trailing across his scalp. The beeping of the heart monitor began to slow down as his body relaxed. She always knew just how to handle him.

"Wake me," He said, "If you need me."

#halo #halo fic #halo fanfic #!fic #fic: per aspera ad astra

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wiickedry · 2 years ago

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.. Just realized that the 'ex-girlfriend' attempting to remove Cazasen from Jeren's life would be the third largest betrayal to him. He's really pissed off about that. Now I'm just envisioning the scene:

She walked into her darkened Kaivance apartment, closing the door and began locking it. Absently, she called out, "Lights: On." Nothing happened in response. Eyebrows pinching in confusion, she lifted her head and stared at the ceiling. As she was about to repeat her request, she was caught off guard by a sudden metallic shliink and then clink sound. Whirling around, she darted her in every direction to locate the source. Her heart stopped, breath catching in her throat. Across the luxuriously spacious apartment, she could make out the outline of her sofa, its shape highlighted by the nebulous sky's lowlights ghosting through the towering windows at its back. It also casted the silhouette of someone sitting there. Shliink. Clink. Shliink. Clink. The strange yet somehow familiar sound continued, cutting through the stillness; the tense silence seemingly amplifying the volume. Shliink. Clink. Swallowing, slowly regaining her composure, she straightened up and addressed the intruder in a flinty tone, "Who the hell are you? How did you get in without alerting my guards or triggering the alarms?" Shliink. She was so tuned into the rhythmic sound at that point that she jumped slightly when, instead of hearing the second sound, a cool, masculine voice spoke up instead. "Y'know, I had an epiphany. Just now." Clink. All at once, the tension in her body — the creeping apprehension in her mind — evaporated the moment she recognized who it was. Shliink. Clink. And the other puzzle piece fell into place as well — she recognized that the metallic noise was him opening and closing that beloved plasma lighter. "Jeren!" she hissed, followed by a breathy laugh as relief washed over her. "For God's sake! Why are you here? Did you disarm my security system?" Shliink. "I've broadcasted many regime takedowns, right? Even advertised my pretty face all over so everyone knows who I am and what I'm capable of." Clink. Annoyance flitted through her as he spoke, the dismissal of her questions made quite plain. "Jer—" "And yet, there's suicidal folk out there still wantin' to try me." In that moment, it seemed as though the temperature of the entire apartment plummeted; an iciness spearing her heart as realization began trickling down on her. Shliink. Click. Suddenly, across the room, there was a flare of piercing golden light. It illuminated the crime lord's face — angular; unblemished; angelic. His many piercings glinted in the searing light; his lidded eyes startlingly blue, like glimmering, crystalline oceans, as he stared directly at her. She couldn't find her voice, stolen by mounting fear. She could only watch as the man lowered his gaze and began searching through one of his jacket's pockets. "Baby, I would ask why y'did it," he casually said, and a cigarette appeared in the halo of light. He made a show of pausing the one-sided conversation to place the filter between his lips and light the opposite end with the glowing plasma flame. He inhaled, taking the first drag. He lifted his gaze back to her and exhaled a noxious cloud of smoke, the cigarette flicking about as he continued, the words slightly muffled from the corner of his mouth, "But that'll just give y'the this idea that I can be reasoned with." Clink. Abruptly, the room fell into darkness once more.

#[story] godfuckers #// tbc? lol #// I got tired #// will add the little bit left later #[character] jeren mcardis

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subwaybrothers · 3 years ago

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I am asking you about N in the Unovan angels au

Also asking if the angels are so.ehow connected to the legendary dragons? I'm not too sure how Alder would fit into that, so my other working theory is that it's connected to being the Unovan champion somehow, or it's just entirely separate and these three are just Funky

I’m gonna split this up real quick, and answer your second question first!

So, in the Unova Angels Au [although that’s just because the focus is on Unova. Angels work the same throughout the entire pokemon world. Cynthia is an angel. Cyrus was an angel. Riley is an angel. ect ect] Angels can be created either when they were born, or through being higher up in society [Gym leaders, the elite four, and the champion are the most obvious examples, but sometimes those who aren’t quite as high up also become angels]. Also important to know that their angel parts are connected to them mentally and emotionally. going through a character arc is going to grow someone’s wings if theyre small!! r u in a bad situation? awesome your wings r looking kinda sickly recently, r u ok?

I’ve also been thinking about it as a celebrity thing, where now you’re put on a pedestal and everything you do is scrutinized and inspected to make sure you’re perfect. Angels have been trying to send out informational posters or such things that explain that most of them r literally just humans w wings & halos!!! like calm down there’s nothing holy about us or whatever we’re just existing the same as u!!!

The legendary dragons ARE gods, yes, but the angels wings are from arceus specifically. [cuz. yk. arceus is like GOD. god. im p sure. and this is a worldwide thing, so.] because you can be born with wings, sometimes u could just walk around and some random person would have wings & a halo, but they get less of a spotlight cuz. yk. they’re not famous.

NOW: N. You remember how I said the Angels are trying to get people to understand that they’re JUST PEOPLE? Well, Ghetsis doesn’t like that. He wants people to look up to team plasma so they’ll listen to him! So N has these beautiful pure white wings, and a very nice halo, and he’s a picture perfect Angel to have as the King of team plasma. Ghetsis is trying to change the definition of a “True Angel” to include N alone, which is a lot of pressure on N bc now he has to be perfect !!! and thats screwed up!!!

My friend [@starlight_face on insta, im sorry i keep repeating this, but she created the entire design of N and it has SO much symbolism. i cant just leave out credit] had the VERY cool idea of N’s ceremonial gowns being paired with candles on his god damned wings. The candles r to:

1. symbolize the wax wings and flying too close to the sun

2. give off false light to make up for his duller halo, while also making it a little bit more obvious that his halo is DULL.

3. make it so that N can’t use his wings

To expand on 3: Ghetsis can’t - literally OR metaphorically - let N fly out of his cage. So just tell him that the candles r important to the ceremony, and that he can’t let them fall off. Additionally, putting WAX. on WINGS. thats like. when u take them off ur gonna pluck some of the feather off too!! and hot wax melts and thats gonna burn. like. The top of N’s wings aren’t healthy looking. But N is perfect!! so his wings r perfect!! what would everyone say if they saw? So ghetsis tells him that when he isnt in his ceremonial robes, he should wear a wing harness ^-^ it will cover it all up dont worry!! no one will be able to see!

N also has a blindfold to be the opposite of Ghetsis’ eye um. literally everything. because he can’t see what ghetsis is doing to him. plus my friend gave N a lot of eye imagery on his clothes too bc yk how “biblically accurate angels” are always about the eyes, rings and wings? well. here’s the eye part.

Ah! also!! All angels have halos, most angels have rings, and some non-born-angels DONT have wings. So if you were born an angel you WILL have wings, but if you became an angel afterwards, you might not get wings.

I think that’s all? We also gave N eye tattoos on the backs of his hands. for funzies and so that he could put his hands over his eyes and the tattoos would become his eyes

#[intercom]#my friend & i are artists first. we do things that make for awesome art pieces in our heaads #[unova angel au]

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goji-pilled · 2 years ago

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MK-S: Random summary of gameplay from two FPS games. Why? Already wrote it out, so why not?

Halo: Tactically aim at your targets, prioritizing largest threat first or one with desired weapon, terminate, move/adjust, evaluate situation, repeat.

DOOM: Run around the arena like a crazed madman with a chainsaw, unloading all the lead, plasma, and explosives into demonic flesh, ripping and tearing said flesh as needed. Upon depleting ammo, pull out the actual chainsaw, cut a demon in half, watch as munitions fall out of your flesh piñata, then repeat all steps.

this is just making doom sound like more fun

#felix answers

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veeranger · 3 years ago

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you have literally never been more frustrated in a video game than someone trying to score a kill with the plasma repeater in halo reach. there is objectively nothing worse

#Apple Post

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dragon-snoots-a-boopin · 3 years ago

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Okay, so I had this idea. The idea being that what if Halo Infinite did DLC, but specifically, weapon and armor pack DLC for the multiplayer based on previous Halo games since Halo Infinite is supposed to be the last Halo game for the next ten years? Well, this is going to be what I think they could do for that.

I am going to end my idea for what they could do for the third and final weapon pack DLC with weapons being from Halo Reach, Halo 4 and Halo 5: Guardians.

UNSC Weapons

M319 Individual Grenade Launcher

M392 DMR

ARC-920 Railgun

M739 SAW

Covenant Weapons

Type 53 Plasma Caster

Type 52 Focus Rifle

Type 51 Plasma Repeater

Type 50 Directed Energy Rifle/Heavy (Concussion Rifle)

Type 52 Plasma Launcher

Type 31 Needler Rifle

Type 55 Storm Rifle

I think that if 343 Industries added the weapons I have suggested in these three posts, I think that they would get more players into Halo Infinite and they would get current players to stick with Halo Infinite for a longer period of time.

#video games #first person shooter #halo #halo the master chief collection #halo reach #halo 4 #halo 5 guardians #unsc #covenant #master chief #halo infinite #343 industries

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radramblog · 3 years ago

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Halo Through its Guns: Reach

The year is 2010. Bungie has one final game left on their contract with Microsoft before they can make something that isn’t Halo. They were going to make it count.

Reach is the last Halo game that Bungie developed, and the latest non-numbered entry in the series that’s still a First-Person Shooter (unless Infinite dropped the 6?). It came at a time where FPS games were at the height of their popularity, when they dominated living rooms and the fledgling days of e-sports, before the rise of MOBAs and mobile games and the like.

The game is a reflection of all of this. It’s a mirror to both the franchise past and those others that sprung up in its wake. It’s a deliberately different game in story, aesthetic, and play to the others around it. And it’s proof that Bungie’s developers as a whole really loved working on this series, seeing as they put so much into their final entry.

As per usual, I think you can use the weapons as a lens into the game. As such, this is Halo: Reach through its gun- the Grenade Launcher.

In order to talk about Halo: Reach, we have to talk about Call of Duty. I know, I don’t like it either.

2009 and 2010 were the height of what could be referred to as the Halo/Call of Duty rivalry. Halo 3 was still huge, ODST had just released, with the franchise arguably at its peak of popularity- but Call of Duty was faring similarly, with the incredibly popular Modern Warfare releasing the same year as Halo 3 and the series sill riding the high of Modern Warfare 2 in 2009. Moreover, Halo: Reach and Call of Duty: Black Ops were set for release within the same few months of 2010. In effect, if you were, like me, a preteen middle class dude who had touched an Xbox controller before, you had to have an opinion about which one is better. Lines were drawn in the sand over which you preferred (with the other clearly being dirt), though CoD had the advantage of not being a console exclusive.

To those unfamiliar with shooty mans games, the two franchises look incredibly similar, but this isn’t especially true. Call of Duty is what many refer to as a “twitch shooter”, with an increased emphasis on reflexes and map awareness. Engagements between players are typically much shorter owing to their increased fragility, with much more weapons being able to kill in one or two hits. A melee is always a kill in CoD, whereas in Halo that’s only true if you catch someone from behind.

In place of the weapon sandbox from more classic shooters (like Halo), the CoD games of the era featured a huge range of customization options in the form of Loadouts. This kind of completely changes how weapons are treated in the series- since you can spawn in with any weapon in the game, the idea of a “power weapon” cannot exist for game balance, and so traditionally powerful weapons like sniper rifles and grenade launchers are significantly weaker than they’d be in other games. This, combined with the restriction that the guns have to be, you know, real actual guns that exist, makes the guns all kind of blend together. Most of the time, the differences are statistical rather than functional, and minor at that. I’m not saying this is an inherently worse way to go about things, but it’s very different, and something that will likely determine how much you enjoy either franchise.

This brings us to Reach. Bungie was very obviously aware of Call of Duty’s design at this point- they’d already been outsold by Activision twice- but I’m not sure anyone was expecting them to so deliberately change the way their own series works as a result. While obviously the game is still Halo, the way the gameplay has been facelifted in Reach is a clear reflection of the influence of the franchise’s primary competitors.

The biggest, most clear divide is in the massive complexity increases with weapons both old and new. Especially seeing as Reach heralded the final, permanent removal of dual wielding from the franchise, individual weapons were enabled to be more differentiated as a result. Looking at the new weapons from the game, only one of them could be argued as “basic”, and that’s the DMR- yet that’s also a major change, as it replaces the series’s now iconic Battle Rifle, having a longer range and scope to allow the Magnum to reclaim some of its former glory at medium/close range now that it’s been buffed and scoped once again.

I shit you not, every single one of these weapons is fucking odd. The Plasma Repeater’s fire rate slows as heats up, making it worse in an extended firefight, but you can press the reload button to vent it out it a pinch. The Needle Rifle features the Supercombine effect from the Needler on a longer range weapon, with the 3-bodyshot explosion making it much stronger in the hands of less experienced players. The Plasma Launcher echoes the Spartan Laser, but fires homing Plasma Grenades and allows versatility in how much you charge it up. The Beam Rifle has been replaced by the Focus Rifle, a long-range…Sentinel Beam? I dunno I’m not a huge fan of the Focus Rifle actually.

And then there’s the Grenade Launcher. The most obvious comparison to Call of Duty the game has. Modern Warfare 2 had an underbarrel Grenade Launcher available as an option for many primary weapons, with its quick switch option and instant-kill potential earning it the nickname of the “N00b Tube”. Bungie, on the other hand, nicknamed their Grenade Launcher the “Pro Pipe” and it shows in the gameplay. It has effectively two firing modes, requires very precise aim and timing to use most effectively, can shut down vehicles, and most importantly won’t be one-shotting anything anytime soon. It can be used to flush out enemies behind corners, as a trip-mine in objective-based gamemodes, and if you’re good, can even work very well against airborne opponents.

Speaking of airborne opponents, the Grenade Launcher interacts very interesting with most of the game’s new addition of Armor Abilities. Just about every gamemode has multiple available to spawn with, and they all work great in different situations. Unfortunately, just about all of them paled in usage compared to the Sprint ability and Jetpack- Halo not having an increased speed option was a deliberate choice, which Sprint really messes with, making it typically the best option. And Jetpack is so utterly insane for mobility, especially when you’re playing a game with powerful weapons in far-off spots. The Armor Abilities replaced the Equipment from 3, and I’m ultimately not sure how I feel about it. They did, however, contribute to something else, which we’ll get to in a moment.

Before that, I want to talk about factions. Much of Halo 2’s weaponry was dedicated to parallelising the UNSC and Covenant loadouts, to make going between Chief and the Arbiter easier, and 3 continued this with the Brute weapons. By contrast, Reach goes out of its way to deparallelise the two factions, deliberately making the two play slightly differently. You can still pair them up (though some of those are kinda a stretch), but there’s enough difference between each pairing that each weapon feels different, which especially makes playing as a Spartan or an Elite a subtly changed experience.

This is all (arguably) in service of what I’d call Reach’s crowing achievement- Invasion mode. It is the culmination of everything the game has to offer- an asymmetrical, objective-based gamemode with massive maps and incredibly complexity. The default loadouts are fairly basic, but as the game progresses, the power of each player’s equipment ramps up. The round-three loadouts are extremely cool, often letting you spawn with what would be considered a power weapon (albeit a more niche one like the Shotgun), each with a different Armor ability that suits its weaponry, and each forming a different role in an effective team. The Grenade Launcher gets to seriously shine as a part of the Grenadier loadout, particularly on Defense, as a tool to keep vehicles at bay, and the loadout’s Hologram ability lets you get an idea of enemy placement or movement so you can more effectively fire on out-of-sight targets.

Invasion is just such an incredible game mode. It perfectly suits the story and gameplay changes of Reach, and it is just really bloody fun. It has a scale that no other Halo Gamemode has managed to achieve, dwarfing even Big Team Battle. It lets you fully take advantage of everything the game has to offer, from weapons to abilities to vehicles to maps. As well, with Reach’s massively expanded gamemode customization and Forge map editor (with Forge World being a much greater canvas to work with than Sandbox ever was), it can and has been expanded and played with for years, being arguably the game-mode with the most potential for variety of all of them.

This complexity is what made Reach great. It’s what set it apart from its competitors, and what sets it apart from the other games within its own franchise. Sure, it doesn’t have dual wielding, but it really doesn’t need it. Bungie set out to make their last Halo game a memorable one, and its inarguable that with Reach, they succeeded.

Unfortunately, it’s also a level of complexity we’d never see again. While Reach was deliberately different from its contemporaries, the next games in the series would instead fall further in line with them. Join me next week, as we enter the 343 era of Halo.

…I’m going to need to find a way to play Halo 5 real quick, aren’t I?

#ramble #halo #halo reach #video games

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bossveteran · 8 years ago

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Army of Brothers

ITS SOO GOOD BACK TO THE WORK DANGIT! And with the release of the new Halo reach Multiplayer models..OHH BOI! TIME FOR BACK WITH SOME *TACTICAL SURPRISE GIFTS!!!!* And finally i can do the most close look of the what i call : Army of Brothers Feacturing! : Noble 7 - OptimusPower92 Killer - Spiderman209942 Slayer - Nightslayer716 Pedro - Pedroroll Hope you like it bros! I recommend hear this song while you see this haha

#sfm #sourcefilmmaker #sfmsourcefilmmaker #halo reach #halo #reach #scout #mark v #eod #shotgun #sniper rifle #sniper #assault rifle #plasma repeater #spartans #spartan iii #spartan 3

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halopedia · 1 year ago

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Trivia Tuesday - Plasma Cannon

Did You Know that the Wraith's secondary plasma cannon in Halo Infinite bears great resemblance to the unfinished plasma cannon on the Scout Revenant, a vehicle cut from Halo 4?

Although the Scout Revenant was cut from Halo 4, the 2022 Halo Encyclopedia canonized the vehicle as the Phelent-pattern Ground Striker. The release of Halo 4 on PC as part of MCC has also made it possible to restore the vehicle as a mod.

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purkinje-effect · 4 years ago

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The Anatomy of Melancholy 65, More Than You Can Chew

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 32. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: PTSD triggers, recollection of suggested dubcon and noncon, implied possibility of sexual assault, body horror, alcohol, chems, manipulation, toxic dynamics, one step past friskiness, trenchant self-deprecation.

“Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man's memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull.” -- Mark Lawrence, King of Thorns

_____________________________________________

“Something kicked the ‘Lurks up bad.”

Sticks did not look away from the window. As if to punctuate things, the ghoul closed up all but one of the shutters. He pulled up a chair to watch from that half-shuttered window, and motioned to keep it at a hush.

“You’re boarding up like a hurricane.”

‘Choly couldn’t finger what about it to object to. A groan gurgled from him when he rolled onto his back in the bed. Sticks had him all out of sorts just from so flippantly throwing him down. He disliked the reality that the orthotics seemed to diminish the severity of dislocations, but not prevent them altogether like they had when he’d first begun relying upon them. His back had slipped out for sure. To imagine it any worse made his head scream.

“What’s all the fuss, gentlemen?”

Angel, too, returned inside at a caution.

“Stay quiet and stay put. If I can figure out why they’re pissed, I can figure out how much we need to worry.”

The aquatic shrieking and viscous pounding coming from street level tried ‘Choly’s composure. He watched Sticks from the bed for a bit. He’d stay put, all right. Like he had a choice.

The ghoul rose, eyes out the window whenever possible, to kneel beside the bed. He fished out a bolt-action hunting rifle and a canvas bag that sounded like it contained bullets, and sat again to alternate between continuing to watch the esplanade and prepping an ammo clip. He deteriorated from anxiousness to confusion.

Various electrical sounds accompanied grinding whines which ‘Choly struggled to place. Then the distinctive hissing beam of a plasma gun rang out, and he couldn’t not shoot up on the mattress. When glass shattered, he thought at first to windows downstairs, but recalled the restaurant seemed to have long since lacked them in favor of fortification. An outcry rang indistinguishable from stress or bravado.

Soon things went near completely quiet outside. Sticks loosened up and glanced to ‘Choly with a strange wistfulness. He stood and pulled ‘Choly into a fierce hug. Kneeling, in a wet-eyed stupor 'Choly mirrored him.

“You’re alive...” The ghoul developed a broken, excited laugh, pressing his goateed chin into ‘Choly’s scalp. “You’re really alive...”

With a rapping on the door downstairs, a relieved sigh and a sniff broke Sticks away. Whimsy lit up his dark eyes. He slipped the cane off his back and returned it, in favor of the rifle. He patted ‘Choly on the upper arm and rubbed at it a bit with a small, aside smile.

“Stay up here and take it easy a spell.”

The ghoul went to lift the hatch door, descending downstairs. Shortly after, the chemist could faintly make out conversation. Left out, ‘Choly mustered himself to rise, and he approached the window to assess for himself what had happened.

“They-- Ah!” About to broadcast its eavesdropping, Angel instead sublimated with anticipation. “We have company for dinner. Forgive me, Sir, but I must go help them prepare the kitchen and dining area!”

‘Choly frowned and started to object, but the words were slower than either the ghoul or the robot. A dull, ringing pressure haloed his head. He grabbed his now-cold remainder of coffee, to sit and finish it off in resignation. He opened the shutters all the way, and pushed the window fully open, to observe and attempt to listen in. Once he’d exhausted the caffeine, he set his mug on the sill, and in alternations watched and worked to reset the joints which troubled him most, with an especial focus on the wrist and arm that had gone under him when tossed. Basic field medic training or no, he hoped he never had cause to grow accustomed to the sensation of palpating--and subsequently, popping--his own misaligned joints.

Wielding one-handed chainsaws and notched machetes, several dozen misshapen hunters shucked Merrilurk meat on the esplanade. The Furriers. Devils. Whatever they had become, ‘Choly had not seen them in clear light such as this until now. He watched as they reclaimed their rope darts from around the Merrilurks’ limbs, and pried meat from the aquatic creatures’ exoskeletons. He tried to crack his neck several times, only succeeding in worsening it before eventually breaking even again. He wondered if things with exoskeletons, lacking bones altogether, struggled as he did. He wondered, too, whether the hunters had to reset joints in any particular way.

They still wore masks, and draped, knotted garments, but they also had incorporated khaki elements of military garb, and reclaimed bits of their repurposed sheet metal armor where it still fit. He spotted several ‘familiar faces,’ but refused to speculate whether he knew any of them after yesterday. They had, he reminded himself, received no less than two doses of X-Cell-Root--hadn’t that risked them sluicing into other people with whom they’d come into physical contact?

“Bozhemoy, what a way to lose my fucking virginity.”

Forty-three years old a virgin. (Those two centuries on ice didn’t count, he hoped.) He couldn’t ever have begun to have fantasized the week’s debauchery in which he’d gotten embroiled. Surely, something as awkward as that, his memory couldn’t screw that up. Yet, Sticks had thought ‘Choly’s apparent perversion contradicted his declared inexperience. First drifting off to the Unfolding and its chaotic delirium of limbs, his mind readily snagged up in the things he and Sticks had done together. The row house had comforted and delighted him, but he couldn’t shake the possibility that Sticks had used his knowledge of ‘Choly’s anatomy to manipulate the course of events that had transpired in this room the day before. He’d never desired a penetrative act of any sort, let alone sought one. What had gotten into him?

Besides him, he sneered.

It was so unlike him. ...Or was it? He disliked not knowing in what sex acts the Unfolding may have included him. It left him even more queasy than it had at the time, the oft mentioned fact he’d blacked out amid it all.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to become presentable. He put on his reinforced gloves and persisted again in brushing out his hair and pinning it up properly. He browsed the drawer Sticks had allotted him for clothes storage. Just about every garment he owned carried negative associations. He wished to never wear a military uniform again in his life, but he did miss the sense of support of the high leather martial collar he’d lost in Voire. He rubbed at his shorn nape, grousing at the radiating nausea from high up in his neck. Just seeing the golfing attire set him sideways. He stomped out onto the balcony to pluck down the Vault suit. He disliked it least. Besides the puncture tear, it had remained in good condition despite all it had endured.

Putting his shoes back on went more smoothly. He refastened his holster and harness also, taking after Sticks’s uncertainty whether to appear downstairs unarmed. He’d hesitated while he dressed, but retrieved his coat from the balcony also, to pair with the ushanka. The sensation of fur soothed him too much, for him not to. He routed in his brain for a more correct word. Bekesha-tulup. As he nodded, his cheek burrowed against the wide turned collar.

He noticed the clawfoot tub on the balcony, filled with laundry suds and bed sheets. He pulled his coat tighter together, and frowned, unable to ignore what the soiled linens represented.

Driven by a sense of abandonment and isolation, he hobbled from the gambreled half of the upper story and to the end of the gabled half, where he proceeded to lift the hatch door and tackle the stairs with a heavy reliance on his cane. His heart wanted to wait for Angel or Sticks to come check on him, to escort him down, but his soul needed him to do it himself. Slow and deliberate, he repeated with every step. The braces improved his odds, but not his confidence. The sharp, meaty sweetness of seafood affronted him before he even rounded the turn of the stairway.

The next he knew, he had spilled down into the employees’ mudroom. His cane clattered off somewhere nearby. As he managed to right himself in the floor, he got an eyeful of the state of his left leg. Thankfully, he had not had any solid food yet. His guts knotted up, and he gnashed his teeth so fiercely his jaw popped. His knee had dislocated at an angle he thought not possible of a leg. With ginger but imprecise meddling, he seethed, but did not think it broken. Broken. His eyes whipped to his Pip-Boy screen. It came a temporary relief, that it had not cracked.

At least his neck had gone back right again.

He pushed himself along at a slumping crawl until he could reach his cane, by the shaft of which he leveraged two-fisted to stand. On his feet, he smoothed down his hat and coat. Then, favoring his left leg for hours to come, he rounded the stairs into the kitchen.

Sticks rushed about tending to half a dozen workspaces. The ghoul donned the iconic white shirt, black apron and slacks, and bowtie of a prewar ice cream parlor uniform. The clatters, sizzles, and gurgles of food prep drowned out the chemist’s giggle. He needed the minor humor to offset the slight that neither the ghoul nor his robot had noticed his fall. He called out for Angel and approached Sticks. Before his mouth could open, he received a basket of dark-colored fries. The ghoul added a freshly griddle-toasted long bun with a single slice of grilled tato, and ladled chopped sauce-seared marbled green-red shellfish into it. With a squirt of chunky sauce to top it off, Sticks tossed the bottle back into its chilled cubby to resume food prep.

“Now go on, shoo. Enjoy it while it’s hot and get out from underfoot. Once I’ve got everyone plated up, I’ll be along. If you want something to drink, Angel’s piloting the watering hole.”

'Choly sniffed at the briny, tart Merr-Roll-Lurk and stood there. His nausea waned. Though unlike the Jacob he knew, he didn’t question why Sticks had turned away the chance for Angel to cook in his place.

He nearly processed a generic disappointment that the place couldn’t serve a proper Nuka-Float without fresh milk for ice cream, but an airy wheeze came from behind him, paired with the sound of Angel’s thruster. He teetered as he looked back in the front-facing area which had once served ice cream. Behind the Mister Handy rushing up to him with an Ice-Cold Nuka-Cherry in pincer, he recognized the latch door of a walk-in freezer. Angel uncapped the beverage and offered both parts to him. He pocketed the cap before recognizing the bottle was for him, too.

“With how fiercely you’re shivering, I suggest you find a fireside seat, Mister Carey. I’m grateful you thought to dress warmly.”

‘Choly nodded, suddenly numb in the moment.

“Angel, did you choose to serve drinks? Did Sticks convince you not to cook?”

The Handy laughed sweetly.

“Mister Hawthorne is the one who required convincing to permit that I help! He is most enthusiastic a grill cook. Oh, Sir. I could hardly resist the opportunity to assist in hosting such a soirée.” With his murmured vague appeasement, it took his cane in one pincer to guide him with the other two at his sides. “Allow me to help you to a table. You seem a bit unsteady today.”

“A bit?” was all he could manage as they passed through the double-action swing doors into the dining area.

His ears rang. Their guests had removed their masks to eat, slinging them either off the side of their head or at their waist. He no longer felt so overdressed, the more he skimmed the restaurant. It felt more like a mess hall than a dining room, with its patrons bearing arms and a mishmash of military garb. Before now, he hadn’t really got the chance to admire the heavily embroidered leather work or extensive varied use of fur lining. Their dress fused design and utility.

Angel settled him at a two-seat table beside the fireplace in the back room, then returned to its post. A large figure on their knees fed the fire. He said hello to the unmistakable back of Reese’s head.

He pocketed his gloves to eat barehanded. It only took a bite for him to melt in the texture of warm bread. He knew he’d regret it later, but he craved inclusion, and he had to know why Sticks had made such a fuss for having the recipe. The longer he held the mouthful, the more the savory, bright sauce overtook him. The chopped long-grain meat contrasted the starchy tato. He let out a soft shocked moan. How could something like a Merrilurk taste good?

The figure stood with delight. Two patches of shoulder-length, irregularly blended indigo-ruby hair streaked the front of each ear, but they otherwise appeared mostly unchanged since their last encounter.

“So glad to share the legendary Glenn Johnny experience with you, Melancholy! May I join you?”

He held a hand over his mouth to cover his useless hurried chewing, and nodded when he couldn’t verbally welcome them. The goliath sat.

“Didn’t expect your lot out this way so soon after, well. You seemed to be settling in on base anyway.”

“It’s all accordingly.” They flashed him that lemniscate grin. “I’m sure Sticks has already told you our plans in the coming months.”

“Everybody keeps assuming I know the first thing that’s going on,” he blurted out, before taking another bite. “No, he’s been too busy in the kitchen to tell me anything.” Or help me when I fall down the stairs. He set down his food to grouse at his knee under the table with one hand, and gesticulate at the hunter with the other. “You, uh. Still go by Reese?”

“I’m confirmed Tiresias now.” They barked a laugh. “Everything’s gone far better than any of us anticipated, I assure you. The General’s plan would Unfold all the Rust Devils together, which pitted us against each other and likely wiped out both. But yours combined the Furriers and the Devils, which pits us against her, should the need arise. She steeply underestimated you, Colonel.”

Angel brought Tiresias another pair of Merr-Rolls-Lurk, which they accepted graciously. ‘Choly’s mind wadded up like cotton, trying to process just how badly he’d failed in eradicating the Devils--he had only worsened matters exponentially. The two ate together quietly for a bit before the hunter spoke again.

“We were afoot to reclaim battle salvage, but the opportunity to quarry after a clutch of Merrilurks appeared when we rounded the bridge between Back Central and Historic. We swam after them. The fight began in the water, and we drove them up onto land. We cornered them on the shore front outside this restaurant, and knew our fortune. We delivered this bounty to Glenn Johnny’s--to Sticks--by sheer chance. There he is!” they bellowed. “It’s like pulling teeth to get you to serve anymore! We’re all blessed you could not turn down so much peak season ‘Lurk.”

“You got me.” The ghoul sat at a row of tables nearby. “The hatchlings aren’t the firmest meat, but they make the best rolls.”

‘Choly made eye contact with him, looked down at his food, then back to him. His mouth felt thick.

The ghoul picked up one of the two rolls he’d served himself. Despite the boisterousness, Sticks had sat close enough they could hear one another.

“So, how do you like it?”

“Surprisingly edible. It is edible, right?” The whole room broke into laughter, and his ears rang. “Is it bad I’m more blown away by the bread? Fresh, griddle-toasted bread? How did you even have this much bread at the ready?”

“You can freeze dough, you know.” Sticks took a bite. “You really have been starved since you came out, haven’t you?”

“Angel’s been cooking from prepackaged prewar holdovers and foraged produce. It’s... it’s made do. Does its best. The kinds of ingredient compromises it’s got to make these days don’t necessarily lend well to the recipes it knows. It can’t taste or smell, so substitutions are total guesswork. Things just aren’t its fault!” His ears burned. “Not that it really matters whether Angel’s a good cook or not. You know my gut’s got other plans. That I’ve got to have my Melancholia.”

“You’ve been eating prewar food?” Sticks’s face screwed up at the thought. “No wonder your insides are a mess.”

‘Choly’s face ran hot.

“Say, Tiresias... You called these rolls legendary. How’d you know this place once made a big deal about them?”

“This establishment was a hub even decades after the Great War. Survivors from all around the Merrimack kept it running as a crux of Lowell hospitality. Over time, the locals either died or Deenwood conscripted them. Sticks eventually inherited Glenn Johnny’s, as one of the last people who cared to keep it running. He’s done such a marvelous job of it, wouldn’t you say? But he hasn’t held regular hours in decades!”

Sticks jeered playfully at the ribbing.

“Yeah, yeah, trained by the best. Let it alone. Nobody’ll ever make ‘em like Phil, but I know my rolls are good enough you’ll get ‘em no matter when I step in the kitchen.”

“My heart warms to know you still pride your work.”

‘Choly picked at his tato fries, which had sopped any sauce which dribbled off the roll. Sticks cemented business arrangements by cooking. That’s all this was, right? Everyone involved was simply communicating their goals. Everyone... Was he consorting with raiders again?

“So... what’s become of Laverne’s offer?” Sticks started with a low lyric. “Seeing as I held up my end, I think I deserve that level of compensation. Of course, there’s also the little matter of my extensive hospitality...”

Tiresias frowned, and took the time to finish off their third roll to form a thought.

“The General’s requisitioned the Towers as an extension of Deenwood, and declared it a restricted building, even from the Unfolded. We couldn’t get your reward out of there before she instated security measures. We’ve only got access to what we’ve reclaimed from Back Central. Lucky, you found a working Pip-Boy, yes?”

“I am not just gonna give Sticks a Mark-V, Tiresias. Prove to me he’s done more than cook us dinner.”

The Unfolded that had spoken held incredulity in their knobby, asymmetrical musculature.

“I earned one fair n’ square, and you know this. Russian dressing’s just the icing on this cake.”

‘Choly took notice that every single Unfolded he could see from his seat wore one model of Pip-Boy or another. These raiders operated with more than some vague structure, even before. Some Nuka-Cherry washed down his dread, then another two swigs sought to drown it. His scalp prickled when Tiresias raised a hand to insist that Sticks stay.

“Don’t quit us. Your arrangement with the Rust Devils stands fulfilled,” they insisted, in something of a speech, to Lucky’s disgust. “You upheld your end of all bargains. Outfitting the Furriers with fresh ballistics weave. Guaranteeing the Rust Devils could breach Deenwood and get at its robotics. And orchestrating that the Furriers kept the Devils on point, so that the General could bestow the Unfolding upon the lot of us. And of course, opening up your kitchen today. The ‘Lurk boil is both a tradition for the parts of us that have lived here in some capacity for many decades, and a virgin experience for the newest pieces of us. It rings true as a celebration of the Enlisted continuing to harbor ties with you, through Colonel Melancholy.”

‘Choly sputtered, speechless. Surely, Sticks hadn’t promised them anything without consulting him first!

“On account of you, and in spite of you,” Tiresias continued, “we present to you a Mark-V Pip-Boy. It’s not the Mark-VI prototype promised you, but we can hope it compares to your expectations.”

“I get you bent over backwards for one of these things.” Lucky grunted, retaining a firm grip on his knapsack. “I get it, but I don’t respect it. What monetary value could you possibly give me for it? These things are damn near priceless now, and you know it."

“You’re wringing me dry here, but I’ve got about three hundred caps to my name.”

“Three hundred!” he snorted. “I was thinking more three thousand!”

Not even Lucky’s superior could budge him on this. But did he still acknowledge his C.O.?

“I’ll close whatever value gap Sticks lacks,” ‘Choly said, reflexively.

Sticks reciprocated his stare with poorly-stifled indignity.

Lucky clicked his tongue.

“If you’re offering to trade your Four for my Five, nuh uh. No way. Nobody’s ever happy to get stuck with one of those.”

With a gasp ‘Choly flinched into coddling the device on his wrist. He’d often compared the Mark-IV he’d procured to escape Vault 111′s hydraulic door, to the Mark-III Deenwood had assigned him during active duty... but he couldn’t speculate what order of magnitude must separate a Mark-IV from a Mark-V, to to elicit such distaste in Lucky. For his mannerisms, he supposed this Unfolded must’ve at least partly been Felix. The black cat mask at his waist confirmed it for him.

“I’d never be without one myself. Something else. What about. What about--” Context stuffed his lungs full, when the option came to him. As the words spilled from him, he prayed the offer distracted them from Angel. “Whataboutmysackofgolfclubs?”

“Come again?”

Lucky let out a pointed chuckle as he sat on the ledge of the table.

“Am I... highballing?”

“Pssh. No. No. I just remember, you were an avid golfer. Can’t believe you traveled all this way with ‘em. Lowballing something fierce. Even if you’ve got a full set, that’s only, what, six hundred caps? Try again, champ.”

‘Choly glanced to Tiresias and Sticks, coming up empty. What could he possibly have that Lucky would want? He gulped and motioned for Lucky to get in close. He ineffectually swallowed, and whispered in his ear,

“I don’t have any X-Cell-Root, but do you have any interest in a couple doses of regular X-Cell? The kind that existed prewar?”

Lucky straightened and wobbled on his mismatched feet to think, donning his mask for emphasis.

“Also not worth the couple grand of my asking price, but definitely more interesting of what you’ve tossed in the pot so far. Keep going.”

“I traded all my caps for ammo yesterday.” His ears burned again. “What... what about prewar bonds? Or my gold and silver?”

“Screw paper! Buuuut...” Lucky raised an eyebrow. “How much gold and silver we talking?”

“I’ll get Angel to fetch it for me. Now, I can prove I’ve got what I’m offering, but I realize you haven’t even shown me you’ve got a spare Mark-V to begin with.”

Lucky’s eyes bittered up. He slapped ‘Choly in the middle of the back. ‘Choly couldn’t hide his queasiness.

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Choly jerked back when a mask appeared inches from his face. Before he knew it, an Unfolded with far too long a torso to be healthy, and far too many arms, draped herself across his lap, coiled behind the chair, and draped herself around his shoulders dreamily.

“C.O. Melancholy,” the skeleton cooed, “you didn’t greet me, so I must greet you.”

“Hh hello, Bones. Is it still--” The Nuka-Cherry had started settling his flesh heavier, and his head slurred a bit.

“--Certainly.” She set his hat in his lap to pet his hair. “You look to have withstood triplicate Unfoldings in tact. Even before yesterday, I would have adored to explore you in full...” She sniffed his hair.

Stifling a shiver resulted in an even more intense shiver.

“I, I really apPREciate your talents and gifts.” He couldn’t quite get a grip on the hands in his hair, or along his sides, or down his front, or-- He squeaked. “I’m sure the alterations you made to my coat dID A LOt for my surviving yesterday. Could yOU NOT--”

“Oh, you’re most welcome.” She only paused enough to remove her mask and rub her cheek against his. “Even without a full uniform, you still very much look the part of a commanding officer. Tiresias has been instated our Sergeant First Class. Lucky and I have joint duty over the outfit’s quartermastery. If he can dote tech and weapons upon you, I can certainly dress you... and undress you, as the case may be.”

To emphasize her words, she began to unzip his Vault suit, and slipped a hand against his clavicle.

Sticks whipped to his feet with a snarl.

“GET THE FUCK OFF HIM!” He was stymied by the eyes of everyone in the room, ‘Choly’s included. Softly, he backpedaled, “He doesn’t want you like that. ...You’re upsetting him...”

“I’ll only accept such an accusation from him.” Bones hugged him closer. She pressed her smeared, nearly double-wide mouth sweetly to his face. “It’s not true, is it? Tell him.”

Every surface of ‘Choly’s mouth stuck to itself, and he self-inflicted a scowl as he leveraged a hand between her face and his.

“He means to say, the only attraction I’m capable of is debasing. Fetishistic.”

“A purely carnal arrangement is more than pleasing a thought. Oh! Unless...” She rose up on the back of the chair to get sing-songy with the ghoul. “You don’t wish to share him?”

Exasperated, the ghoul pushed the remainder of his food to the nearest Unfolded, who accepted it with enthusiasm. He slouched back in his chair and crossed his arms to stew in silence.

‘Choly flushed so deeply in mortification that his face may as well have bruised.

“Knock that off.” Lucky returned inside, oblivious to the conversation temperature. “We’re busy here.”

He shoved Bones out of ‘Choly’s lap. She kept her grip on the back of the chair to right herself. With a harrumph, she leaned in to kiss ‘Choly on the face one more time before lousing in one of the wall booths.

He pulled up a chair and set the requested device in his lap. His three shoulders skewed when he saw on which wrist ‘Choly wore his. Smoothing at his peppery chin-length hair, produced an ahem and gestured that he’d proved he could deliver.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Sticks rose expectantly with an awed smile. “I’m humbled.”

“Angel,” ‘Choly called, thinking that by now it surely would have produced itself. “Angel come here.” When it finally did, he asked it at a hush, “Be a dear. I need my security box. And the two ampuoles of X-Cell.”

Rather than demonstrate its storage compartment before them, Angel rushed off then returned with the requested items.

“Will you be needing anything else at present, Sir? I’m caught in something time-sensitive.”

“No. Thank y--” It had already left again. “What gives?”

Before he could even really survey its contents, Lucky had already grabbed the box from him to look it over himself. Tiresias shriek-laughed at his impatience, boxing ‘Choly’s ears in the small enclosed space.

“I’ve gotta ask, Melancholy. Ain’t even October yet. Why the fuck were you singing a Christmas carol last night?”

“Not to me,” he defended a little too quickly. He glanced over his shoulder at Bones pouting. “Not to me, it isn’t. The lyrics swept me up in the moment. I guess I didn’t think I remembered it all.”

Lucky nodded thoughtfully, and placed the Mark-V on the table.

“So a Five for your precious metals, two amps, your golf clubs,” he glanced knowingly to Sticks, “and three hundred caps from the ol’ ghoul.”

When ‘Choly nodded, Lucky poured the box into his knapsack with a chortle, then tossed it down on the table with just the cash in it. Sticks briefly excused himself, only to plop down a Glenn Johnny’s doggie bag on the table with an emphatic jingling and a frown. Without hesitation or gratitude, the ghoul snatched up the Pip-Boy and got to trying to latch it on. Pocketing the bag, the black cat jumped to make him sit back down, and stripped back the leather wrist to point out the various required hookups to the glove’s ports. Unable to observe the process with Lucky between the two, ‘Choly hemmed and shoved a few fries in his mouth, then picked at his own Pip-Boy amid conversation.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” ‘Choly asked Tiresias. “You’ve all got Pip-Boys. They’re all different models. I recognize a few Mark-III’s, and the Mark-IV’s like mine... and know now that the grey ones are Mark-V’s. But there’s a few I don’t think are any of those. Just how many unreleased models did RobCo have in development?”

“A few, I suppose. Never really poked around back there.” They pulled inside themselves a moment, and put their witch mask back on to recompose. “The General’s model is a 3000-Series, Mark-V. We have 3000-Series, from Mark-I to the prototype Mark-V’s. The bombs interrupted RobCo’s projects, of course.”

“You’re mostly seeing a spectrum of remastered junk parts.” Lucky didn’t look up from his rigging effort. Sticks squirmed a bit, pinned in place by someone occupied only with guaranteeing Sticks didn’t mess it up. “Only a few of us have Pip-Boys 100% factory-issue. Even a mix of 2000-Series parts, where we could line ‘em up. More than I’d like, but they get the job done. Fives, though. The Fives might not have got fully finished, but they’re a helluva lot better than the Fours. Slated to hit the market in 2079.”

“This one has got a deck, right? Is it ambidextrous?”

“Duh. Not that it matters for Sticks. And it’s got two. RobCo was working on fusing their terminal word processors with the, ah, personal information processor. The pips. The 3000-V was the first foray into that undertaking. Full data entry capacity, with a processor for each deck. Once the company got it streamlined enough to market, they put all their attention on refining all the bells and whistles on their next prototype.”

When Lucky finally sat back, ‘Choly awed to see just how quickly Sticks’s Mark-V ticked away at its boot sequence. The screen’s slimmer font displayed easily twice the lines of text at once as the Mark-IV, and even from afar looked easier on the eyes. He pursed his lips and focused on his health page, and left Sticks to get acquainted with his new toy.

As Lucky spoke next, ‘Choly’s attention paled in recognition. Systemic CFC-based connective tissue damage. Antigen dysregulation. Chronic arthritis and arthralgia. Syncope. Neurological damage, with memory lacunae. Shell-shock. Addictions to Med-X, Calmex, and Mentats. Every chem he’d taken the night before. He hadn’t taken anything all day. Not since the Addictol. Something inside him broke, lacking the cognitive capacity to discern from the diagnostics what, if not Addictol, Olivia could have possibly tricked him into dosing himself with. The Pip-Boy sure as fuck couldn’t seem to tell him.

“Mmh, hmm. Melancholy. You mentioned memory... I have to ask you. I could be adjusting better to my Unfolding. Confirmation only did so much. Talking to you might help me with that, if that’s all right with you.” When ‘Choly didn’t shut him out, Lucky scooted his chair to sit with him and Tiresias. “It’s the Gen’s fault Lowell’s devoid of what you’d call normal life.”

Sticks groaned, snapping ‘Choly back to reality a ways.

“Are you really gonna start from the War, onward?”

“I guess so.” Lucky shrank a bit, stuck in his head and feeling sorry for it. “That’s the trouble of it. I feel like I remember that far back. That amounts to something, right?” Tiresias’s nod spurred him on. “I’ve remembered a lot of things lately I don’t think I should. Memories tend to start to muddy, the more times they survive the Unfolding. Doesn’t sit easy inside me.”

“Go on.” Tiresias rubbed at the cheek of their mask. “Let it manifest.”

“The Gen paid locals to volunteer for chem trials. Over time, when people didn’t come home, the settlements started distrusting her. Didn’t take long before she couldn’t get enough volunteers for whatever she was doing week to week. So she started abducting people. Called it getting drafted. But, that’s all common history fact. We all remember bits of the Lowellites we used to be. And most of us remember how important this restaurant’s always been to us. What’s got me all screwed up is, I can’t quite place exactly why my gut instinct’s to distrust you and fly to anger. Part of me doesn’t just remember reporting to you before the War. Part of me... wait.” Lucky looked to Sticks, and pointed like he had the ghoul’s name on the tip of his tongue. “Glenn Johnny. John. Johnny. No, Johh... honey. I was Jahani.”

‘Choly’s stomach clenched up hard enough he could taste seafood in his sinuses. His lips drew back tight.

“This doesn’t appear to be proper dinner conversation,” Sticks joked. He flew to stand behind ‘Choly, and gripped his shoulders square in reassurance. He then held up his left arm. “Shouldn’t we be discussing the in’s and out’s of how to use one of these things! Huh! Huh!”

“Jahani. Heydar Jahani.” ‘Choly couldn’t tell if he was staring at him or through him. Sticks slouched and let go when his persuasion failed. “You had a reason to approach me specifically about this?”

“So the memory is a sharp one.” Lucky crumpled inside, though the affirmation intensified him. “Heydar Jahani, huh. You got into the Vault. I had to make my own. Why was that, again?”

“Are you asking me, why you avoided dying in Vault 111? You really are Lucky. I mean, look at me.” Tears froze him in place. His eyes glazed over as he slipped out of the present. “How the hell did you get from Sanctuary Hills to Lowell?”

“I... I don’t know. It... was hell trying to wait out the fallout. I was so sick, even before. I returned to base, hoping to scav chems. Not to be sick anymore. But the Gen had already risen to General, and she was only interested in giving me more chems that no one had taken before. I had no choice but to trust her. She always... sounded like she demanded no one die from the chems she gave us. Like she could boss around the universe. If we became something else, like she became something else, it wasn’t killing us. She could make peace with just about anything short of losing a test subject. So we did. And we all became something completely new, too.”

‘Choly didn’t stop just because he’d drawn blood digging his fingernail along his chin scar.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. What, are you going to read me, too? Or do you expect me to apologize for what I did to you over two hundred years ago?”

“Read you?” Lucky had to process that ‘Choly had interpreted his narrative as a measure of the General’s character. He began to scoff and sniff. “You were my C.O. for three years. And you were like a husk, every time you dosed us. You check out a lot, don’t you? When you don’t like that you like doing things?”

Lucky lunged at him and snarled. Bones sprang back between them, only for ‘Choly to shove her back out of reflex.

“Lucky.” Tiresias didn’t need to stand to reach and seize the black cat’s wrist from where they sat. They demanded his eye contact. “Unlatch before you get snagged up in indisputable insubordination. It’s bristling enough, for you to go against your S.F.C., but another entirely to slander your colonel. You sought guidance in him, not accusations. You lose control of the manifestation.”

“The manifestation is the only thing I’m in control of.” He hissed at Tiresias and struggled against their grip, only to keep snipping at ‘Choly. “The manifestation is my only clarity. Did you ever have a conscience! That’s why just the thought of you pisses me off! Your roommate promised me CM, but you never followed through! It’s your fault I got Psycho-sick. It’s your fault I had to be Psycho-sick all those years in my bomb shelter. And it’s your fault I’m even still kicking today.”

“You still have a Psycho addiction, despite being a part of so many communal X-Cell-Root doses?“ ‘Choly’s face couldn’t turn down any deeper in his deer-eyed shock. “Does that mean that you... all...?”

“Why the fuck do you care now when you didn’t care when you dosed me over and over! I can’t be the only one here you fucked over, either!”

“It’s not his fault if I couldn’t make good on that offer in time. If I had known you were still alive, I would’ve tried to find you some Psycho and returned with it. Considering what happened to me, you can understand why I wouldn’t think you made it.” Lucky’s head whipped up to glare wild at Sticks. “Besides! What good would a couple doses have done you holed up in the ground for years?”

‘Choly was too far gone to defend the ghoul, and the ghoul was too dumbstruck he’d even slipped up in the first place.

“No conscience, Melancholy! No scruples, Sticks! Is that why they kept you on! Promoted you! They only commissioned the broken and the insane! I don’t know if I believe in karma, but she definitely shat on the two of you! FUCK!!” He wagged a vitriolic finger at Sticks. “At least you aren’t my sergeant anymore.”

“LUCKY.” The witch roared, standing to yank the cat forward with enough force it likely dislocated his side-shoulder. “I will tear you limb from LIMB if you do not unlatch his instant. Ground this, or I put you in the ground!”

“I... I like doing things.” At a dusty hush, ‘Choly couldn’t focus his eyes. His hands tucked themselves into his hat, to feel of the fur.

“Ohh, Sir. Sir.” Angel swayed back into the room, and used its tendrils to address him. “Sir, I have something that requires your immediate attention for a yet undetermined duration.”

“Christ, you have the worst timing in the world.” Sticks helped Angel help ‘Choly stand. “What’s so pressing you didn’t interrupt sooner?”

“I’m afraid that’s not to your pay grade, Private,” it snubbed, concerned only with ushering its owner out of the dining hall and upstairs.

“I enjoy it,” ‘Choly said again hobbling back through the kitchen.

The wraith of uncertainty cut furrows in his face in directions skin shouldn’t form natural creases.

He found himself with Angel on the covered balcony. He could still hear the Unfolded arguing beneath them, but he could also hear the inebriated handful that had decided to fool around on the pavilion stage to entertain themselves. The Mister Handy urged him over to the bathtub, over which hung a string of lights. The scent of soap sobered him. His jaw slacked.

“I know how badly you’ve--”

“Poshol ty! Nev’yebenno v rot! --Vanna s penoy.”

“Do stop cursing at me and enjoy it while the water’s hot, Mister Carey.”

He screwed up his face and began to strip like his life depended on it. Angel collected his effects as they came off, nearly worried he’d fling something off the ledge.

“Angel, I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he lauded, standing nude before the tub. “This is the only reward I have wanted from the moment I thawed out.”

“As I was saying, I know.”

He slid into the tub and enveloped himself in the dense, fragrant suds. In an instant, his stresses deliquesced, and he forgot even his time or place. The suds stung his chin scrape, but he didn’t care. He tipped his head back into the water and loosed his mess of hair from its pins, then stretched out with a groaning sigh. The tears ran again, indistinguishable from the bathwater.

“I think I wouldn’t have been driven to murder if I’d only had a bubble bath.”

Glass shattered downstairs. ‘Choly didn’t so much as flinch, relaxed to the point he could forget in the moment that anything could be wrong. Angel fretted and paced all about the balcony.

“Ohh, I do wish I had the confidence to break up the impending bar fight, but they’ve inherited those scoundrels’ robotics prowess, haven’t they? Ohhh... that will be such a mess come morning. Surely, Mister Hawthorne can handle this. It’s his establishment, after all...”

“Ogromnoe spasibo, moy Angel. Ya khochu byt’ s toboy vsegda.”

“You’re intoxicated, Sir. But I love you, too.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“You haven’t been moderating me.”

“There are other more serious slips in verbiage these days than people knowing a military chemist is bilingual.”

Go to Next »»»

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #ghoul oc #mutant oc #mister handy #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #sticks #angel #tiresias #bones #lucky

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anonymouscomrade · 4 years ago

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so this new robotic faction Halo 4′s throwing at me does have really cool-looking weapons, but they’re only barely functionally different from guns that already exist

the Suppressor is just this game’s “what if the assault rifle didn’t suck ass from a straw”, like the plasma rifle, SMG, and plasma repeater before it. hell, the SAW i found in the second level was ALREADY pretty much this

the Boltshot is cool in theory (pistol that you can charge up for a shotgun blast) but the charge shot automatically fires on its own after a couple seconds, making that particular bit nearly useless

the Light Rifle and Scattershot are literally just the battle rifle and shotgun again, respectively

at least their grenades are completely new, i half expected them to act like brute grenades

#ac plays halo #halo 4

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hpoelzig · 5 years ago

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Pondering GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS (2019)

Director Michael Dougherty amply demonstrates his credentials as a Godzilla fan in bringing to the screen a film that lovingly references myriad aspects of the various Toho series since 1954. This lavish and detailed homage to the legacy of Godzilla is full of nods that aficionados will find delicious and our favorite daikaiju have never looked more conscious and gloriously alive. It is crafted in an American summer blockbuster style in its breathless pacing so that one has to be quite sharp to spot all the goodies he’s woven into this third episode of Legendary’s MONSTERVERSE. While Gareth Edwards’ 2014 GODZILLA employed a Spielbergian touch, Dougherty offers the most Toho-esque installment so far in this franchise.

Essence of Toho

In my review of the 2014 Edwards film, I had speculated that a MONARCH-centered approach would be best going forward, and indeed that has been the case with both KONG: SKULL ISLAND and this film. Dougherty has taken that Toho Showa series’ leap into “super science,” with defensive masers, secret bases around the globe enveloping recumbent daikaiju, and the ORCA device, meant to communicate with the Titans. This approach, sort of sci-fantasy, enlarges the sandbox in which he can play and recalls what has been part of so many prior Godzilla outings. MONARCH’s Argo, an immense flying wing, seems to echo the various “Super X” vehicles from the Heisei series, the Marvel Comics S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier Behemoth from their Godzilla: King of the Monsters series, as well as being a nod to both the flying wing from George Pal’s THE WAR OF THE WORLDS (the Northrop YB-49) and to the name of the ship from JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS, so well depicted by Ray Harryhausen. One particular delight for me was the Osprey’s arrival at the Castle Bravo facility, recalling the opening of DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, where a helicopter descended into a similar circular vertical tunnel to reach the hidden base on Monster Island. And, as Toho had done with its production design, these MONARCH scientific/military installations are full of gigantic screens surrounded by flashing lights from which “officially concerned” humans can monitor the global monster action at a safe distance.

Eggleton’s Impact

I was impressed by the painterly cinematography in this most Eggletonian-looking of Godzilla films—I actually expected to see Bob acknowledged in the credits as his visual style so permeates many scenes. Fans of his paintings cannot miss how much of the imagery is flavored by this extraordinary artist’s numerous works. That impressionistic sensibility Edwards had captured in the HALO descent to San Francisco scene infuses much of this movie. And his method for viewing the Titans from human perspectives to make their scale apparent was also deliberately maintained by Dougherty. Despite so much care having been lavished on the sweeping imagery, these sumptuous frames fly by in fractions of a second, which has sadly become the standard action film approach to editing and pacing. That for me is a disservice to those who clearly worked diligently to craft impressive and iconic visuals—such splendor should not be snatched away so swiftly from our hungry eyes. Lingering just a bit longer on some of these fantastic moments would have been so much more satisfying. When King Ghidorah seizes Rodan’s volcanic aerie and regenerates his missing head in a very bizarre, placental manner, his dominance over a foreground cross suggests his demonic power, much as FANTASIA’s Chernabog perched atop Mount Triglav—a gorgeous and potent symbol. He then sends out a call to rouse the world’s Titans to do his bidding as their “usurper king.” That pivotal moment passes far too quickly. Would that the two flanking heads have paused and then looked to the central dominant head, who would return their gazes, then look skyward and begin voicing “the call.” Then the other two would join-in, very deliberately, with some unearthly new sound reaching out to be that irresistible global conscription summons. That could have kicked the scene up significantly. The triple voiced sound used in the film was less of a command, rather a sort of keening, which quietly lingered in the following scenes of the other Titans awakening. For my tastes it should have had more of a dramatic emphasis—and have been audibly unique to the moment. Even somehow having King Ghidorah take note of his new troops as they each arise and perhaps respond audibly to his summons would have made his dominance much clearer and more exciting—perhaps cutting back to him as his heads express a knowledge of each new disciple’s activation?

Daikaiju Design

The designs of the quartet of classic Toho stars move to the top of my favorites, as each are detailed, expressive, and dynamic. Tweaking Godzilla’s look to enlarge his dorsal plates and having them flicker even when not powering up for a blast of nuclear plasma works well—he crackles with latent energy. While the 2014 look is an excellent, naturalistic one, changing the primary row of dorsal plates to repeat the 1954 design and then bumping up the secondary rows to Heisei-styled size makes him more in line with earlier Gozilla incarnations. I’d still like him to sport a proper tertiary row of plates that are clearly defined, which has been a common aspect of many incarnations of the King of the Monsters. Taking those sauropod-esque feet and enlarging the claws for more of a predatory aspect looks fearsome, and I like the shortening of the whip tail of the 2014 version to be more like the standard Godzilla profile. And having a new climactic revival of “Burning Godzilla” was a fine choice, reigniting that concept from GODZILLA VS. DESTOROYAH. King Ghidorah is masterfully realized, a proud successor to DRAGONSLAYER’s Vermithrax Pejorative, who can fly, stride or wing-walk with sinuous beauty. That aspects of his wings echo a William Blake image of the Red Dragon really makes for such resonance. The three heads being somewhat independent with unique personalities was also a superb concept. Ghidorah’s condescending curiosity regarding those nasty, puny humans he was seeing for the first time—even to licking their corpses to explore them—brought forth his diabolically sinister consciousness. His gravity beams and the neck-glow charge-up are splendid. Mothra in her bioluminescent glory is stunningly conceived, from impressively carapaced larva to majestic moth-mantis-wasp imago—magnificent, mysterious, and with a feminine puissance. Rodan as the fantasy firebird, a magma-veined pterosaur, fiendishly skeksis-esque in angry avian awareness, has such presence. Bowing like a courtier to both the usurper and finally to the true king, he exhibits a calculating, conscious persona. His thrilling barrel-roll to take out the pursuing jets was about the most spectacular image we’ve seen of him, ever.

As Toho had done in SHIN GOJIRA, Godzilla’s roars from the various series were employed, as well as his roars from the 2014 film. I was hoping for more of the very deep vocalizations from the 1954 original. Mothra sounded as she always has, with plaintive chirrups and screes. The cries for both Rodan and King Ghidorah were not the originals, and were for me a bit more “generic giant monster” voices. I would have loved to hear new recreations of those readily recognizable Rodan yawps and cackles, and much more forward versions of KG’s triple toned “bidi-bidi-bidi” voice—rather than the faint references buried in the raucous sound design. I rather expected more original Toho monster sounds than were used for both of them, since Daugherty was employing past iconic sounds for both Godzilla and Mothra and seemed to be teasing that during the film’s production.

A Grim Setting

While there is some humor—not all of it apt— intended to break tension, the plot of this film builds upon the global revelation to the people of Earth that past super species were essentially their “gods,” knocking present day humans down a few notches on the dominance pyramid. The context is alarm and terror, though the MONSTERVERSE also offers awe and wonder as viewed through some of those studying the returning Titans. Serizawa remarks in a senate hearing that humanity should be viewed as Godzilla’s “pets”—and he means it. He respects “all forms of life” and sees our world as one that must have a balance which is inclusive of its natural organisms, regardless of where we might end up in Nature’s organic tapestry. Over the course of the film, much is learned about the fascinating past history of human societies who lived in harmony with the Titans. Toho implied some of this in their films—Mothra was regularly portrayed as an eternal goddess for the islanders she protected—but here it is made quite explicit and detailed. Godzilla’s temple lair in submerged Atlantis, with gigantic friezes and sculptures honoring him, is surely an enrichment of this ongoing saga. There is a dark side to this scenario wherein some see humans as being abusive to their world and thus in need of being forcibly “tamed,” and then there is the collective might of the military who want to subjugate these creatures and restore man’s preeminence—behavior that began in the original GOJIRA and sustained throughout most of the films.

Dr. Emma Russell is an oddly polarized primary character. To begin, she seems a concerned mother who has rescued her daughter Madison from her husband’s descent into alcoholism, which had been incited by the death of their son Andrew during Godzilla’s San Francisco battle with the Muto’s. An aside: That plot aspect is reminiscent of a similar character motivation in the third of Kaneko’s Gamera trilogy, wherein a young girl’s commitment to invoking the destructive daikaiju Iris is sealed by her parents’ collateral death during a monster rampage in the first film where Gamera, an Earth defender, destroys his adversary Gyaos. That Emma is no “mother of the year” is quickly exposed when Allan Jonah’s eco-terrorists arrive to snatch she and her daughter (and her Titan controlling ORCA device) after they execute the innocent MONARCH crew studying Titanus Mosura. Emma has indoctrinated her daughter to comply with her pursuit of shattering mankind’s toxic presence by releasing the Titans as “antibodies” to the virus that is human kind. And Emma is in cahoots with these extremists, her obsession being the first cause setting in motion the slaughter of her MONARCH colleagues in China, Antarctica, and Mexico as well as the other locations wherein the Titans are roused to destroy their containment facilities. And countless others then perish around the globe as the revived Titans rage. The script makes her somewhat sympathetic as a mother—she is shown to love and be concerned with her daughter and mournful of her son—but one could not give her a pass for the oceans of blood on her hands. Nor should she be forgiven for making Madison a victim of Stockholm syndrome. Madison, comprehending the grievous practices kindled by her mother’s theories, does awaken to reject Emma’s deeds and then she strives at great risk to use the ORCA to solve the global catastrophe wrought by both Emma and Jonah’s fanaticism. There is a cut scene in the video release of Madison training with the eco-terrorists which would have underlined her submission to her situation—I would have included that for the parallel with Patty Hearst it presents. Madison ultimately is heroic, and her father Mark renews himself by stepping-up to guide MONARCH’s efforts to understand and control the Titans. He provides some crucial insights based on his knowledge of animal hierarchy and behavior. Ultimately, Emma seeks atonement through her sacrifice, which brings some justice to her character’s story, while Mark and Madison are reunited in a world reeling from cataclysmic destruction. A rather “heavy” arc to this family’s journey, and properly symbolic in dealing with present social concerns. I think that it seemed to be missed by many viewers who were more concerned with the pyrotechnics of the battling Titans, but for me it is a properly grounded human story which offers a grave context to the monster spectacles.

Homages A Plenty

There are so very many references in this film, both visually and via dialogue—“Easter eggs” abound! I’ll touch upon a very few, leaving exhaustingly listing them to other obsessive fans. I enjoyed the numbered MONARCH outposts having significance—the release year of the film in which the Toho daikaiju there contained was a delight and also the fun nod to THE THING in the Antarctica outpost numerical designation. Modernizing the Shobijin by having Doctors Chen and Ling, and generations of twins in their family, as “priestesses” of Mothra is an excellent touch. The new Titans are gleeful references to mythology and cryptozoology, demonstrating that many cultures have embraced daikaiju throughout history. Intriguing archaeological mysteries are touched upon such as 12,000 year old Göbekli Tepe, hinting at past humans dealings with Titans. Even an article in the jam-packed end titles is authored by Steve Martin, the character played by Raymond Burr in the American version of the 1954 film which was first to be titled GODZILLA, KING OF THE MONSTERS.

MONARCH’s mission critical submarine is named USS Scorpion, after an American nuclear submarine which was lost under mysterious circumstances, and it has a Captain Crane, like The Seaview in VOYAGE TO THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA. Its conning tower likewise has Seaview-esque planes and shape. The skeleton of Anguirus has a cameo, briefly glimpsed outside of Godzilla’s temple lair, and if only we’d gotten a better look at more of the Atlantean art paying homage to Godzilla—there seem to be monumental figures with Godzilla heads atop humanoid bodies holding some sort of ceremonial weapons which Serizawa passes on his way to revive his “old friend.” A sculpture of Pazuzu is glimpsed atop a step pyramid in that lost city—such artifacts all sadly obliterated to revive Godzilla. Some more time to drink in this elaborately detailed majestic setting would have been appreciated.

Several key plot events here are reshufflings from past Godzilla films. The concept of one daikaiju sacrificing itself to revive another was pivotal in GODZILLA VS. MECHAGODZILLA 2. There, Godzilla is tortured to near death by electrodes from Mechagodzilla which pierced his body and fried his secondary enlarged ganglial areas. Fire Rodan, nearly expired from his conflict with Mechagodzilla, as a dying act drapes himself atop the fallen Godzilla, evaporating into a sparkling mist and then both healing and resurrecting Godzilla, who now has an even more powerful, red-tinged plasma beam. In GMK, Godzilla is the “heel” who fights the more positive trio of Baragon, Mothra and King Ghidorah. Godzilla seemingly kills King Ghidorah, so Mothra makes a direct, suicidal flight at Godzilla who evaporates her with his plasma breath—shared imagery with Daugherty’s film, though here King Ghidorah and Godzilla have reversed roles. In Kaneko’s film, Mothra’s energy descends upon King Ghidorah in a sparkling cloud, reviving him and enhancing his wings and gravity beams for the final combat with Godzilla. That Godzilla thrives on exposure to radiation has long been part of the basic lore of many of the films, and his revival and enhancement through extreme exposure was no surprise as being primary to the MONSTERVERSE’s mythology. And the scene wherein King Ghidorah “powers-up” via biting electrical cables in the Boston battle reminds me of Kong being electrically revived in the original KING KONG VS. GODZILLA. Godzilla’s expression as King Ghidorah takes that bite, and then the massive arcs of electricity that spread out from his wings to clear the attacking human’s jets are both such memorable moments—which could have been given just a bit more time to accommodate earned “oohs and aahs.”

The novelization of GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS goes into detail about some of the Titans only glimpsed or simply listed in the film, and one hopes they’ll emerge in the next or further MONSTERVERSE installments—if any. There is a beautiful, brief passage in the book which is told from Godzilla’s point of view. We see through his eyes his responsibility as the lord and protector of this world—the globe is his domain and he is aware of the entire planet, sensing time passing through the shifts in Earth’s tectonic plates. He is aware of the much younger Kong, but unconcerned as Kong is only responsible for Skull Island. We know Kong is the last of his kind, and Godzilla also seems to be as well, though in the comic prequel to this film the story of the Godzilla-esque skeleton infested with the two Muto spores was explained as being Dagon—perhaps his elder “cousin”? The Muto which killed him was vanquished by Godzilla between the 2014 and 2019 films in that comic, which also serves to explain the change in his dorsal plates, which Dougherty has said are continually growing, like antlers. It would be a delight if the Kraken, snoozing as it embraces a sunken nuclear submarine, and Mokele-Mbembe, designed according to the legends as part serpent and elephant, had scenes in the films to come. If Godzilla at some point must sacrifice himself to save the world, discovering another younger member of his species in the Hollow Earth regions would not be surprising and would also embrace that “son of Godzilla” concept used in Toho’s series. The sunken Atlantis being part of the subterranean world evokes Verne’s JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH, and of course the 1959 film adaptation concludes with a gigantic lizard menacing the remains of the Lindenbrook party in its ruins. Perhaps there are other humans (humanoids) “down below” as well, in fascinating antediluvian cities, much as Toho posited with the Seatopians, or even like the subterranean Sumerians from THE MOLE PEOPLE? Possibilities abound!

The Score

We’ve been quite fortunate that the scores for Hollywood Godzilla films have been powerful, thematic, and thoughtfully composed works wrought by talented composers. Both Arnold and Desplat crafted magnificent music that expressively carried the action. McCreary’s is the first MONSTERVERSE score to incorporate iconic themes for both Godzilla and Mothra from the Toho scores, and these quotations were well-timed and heightened the drama. Additionally, his new themes are both strong and memorable. The thematic material for King Ghidorah constantly iterates the number three, and the general rising melodic line is even kin to that of Holst’s “Mars, The Bringer of War” from THE PLANETS. The chanting monks’ voices offer a mysterious sense of religious awe to support the diabolical “destroyer of worlds.” Rodan’s theme features whooping horns, as if to echo the “Samurai of the Skies” cries. Even the film’s opening quiet theme has that “Go-Ji-Ra” rhythm that was used in both the 1998 and 2014 films to craft memorable new musical signatures for the King of the Monsters. Most touching was the gorgeous choral music accompanying Serizawa’s Spock-esque sacrifice—which even visually rhymed the descent of the mini-sub with the photon torpedo casket sequence from THE WRATH OF KHAN. The MONSTERVERSE’s Serizawa is essentially a transmogrified Dr. Yamane from the 1954 GOJIRA, a man who studies and appreciates Godzilla as a living being. By having him sacrifice himself not to destroy Earth’s dominant Titan, but to revive him with a nuclear weapon and thus save humanity, works as a pragmatic inverse linking him to the original Dr. Seizawa, the self-immolating physicist who conceived of far too deadly a weapon in the Oxygen Destroyer. McCreary’s “requiem” suited that sequence to perfection. When Godzilla rises again and blasts forth his plasma beam into the sky, the Ifukube-based accompaniment was deeply moving, and the moment Godzilla looked to his human saviors was delightful. He seems to acknowledge their role, much as that of the people from a past civilization who had idolized him, and the soundtrack even has a fleeting phrase of Ifukube’s Godzilla theme much as it was scored for high woodwinds in the requiem from GODZILLA VS. DESTOROYAH—a very brief and subtle nod. McCreary’s triumphant symphonic apotheosis of his own opening Go-ji-ra theme over that concluding acknowledgment of the Earth’s true monarch brought me chills. Being followed immediately by McCreary’s magnificently over-the-top arrangement of B.O.C.’s song “Godzilla” to commence the end titles was fan service of the highest order. Its refrain, “History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of man!” is of course the underlying theme of the Legendary MONSTERVERSE. “Bravo!” Maestro McCreary!

Could Be Bettered

Some minor cavils. I prefer to hear the word Ghidorah pronounced in the more euphonious Japanese manner, with the three syllables (ghi-do-rah) given equal emphasis and the first one slightly higher in pitch. One can hear it when watching Toho’s original Japanese prints with English subtitles. Americans emphasize the second syllable (Ghi-DOR-ah), and thus the middle one sounds like the English word door, while the Japanese put the R on the third syllable. I’d have dropped that weak gonorrhea joke, and the “very long fortune cookie” line was a tad clumsy, and a bit out of place for the dignified Serizawa. In this film he seems to take a bit of a back seat to Dr. Mark Russell, once he’s on the scene, which is a bit of a disservice to his character for me. And that his sidekick Dr. Graham is so quickly dispatched by King Ghidorah during his emergence seemed a bit too casual—her character was a fine one, and I’d have enjoyed more from her going forward.

The film brings back the Oxygen Destroyer, a wonderful nod to the original, and they hint at it being tested in the news crawl Madison and Emma have on in the background in their opening domestic scene at the China base. The news commentator’s reporting of “mass die-offs” must be from the military testing it. Rather than having it come as a surprise announcement when the incoming missile is announced by Admiral Stenz, I think that viewers should have been clued-in earlier, and rather easily. The audience primarily sees things from the point of view of the MONARCH characters. But if we go to that senate hearing scene, from which the MONARCH crew departs having been alerted to the eco-terrorist attack on their Mothra temple base—despite being warned that there will be consequences, that scene could have briefly continued. Admiral Stenz would reveal to the committee, once Serizawa and crew have departed, that the military now has a prototype weapon that they think could be used to exterminate the Titans. We’d cut from the blurred footage of the Mutos on the monitor to a graphic of the Oxygen Destroyer (what we saw later when Stenz alerts the Argo team), while Stenz declares this is their tested proposal for conquering the Titans. If one wanted to flesh it out, then perhaps running some brief footage of it killing fish or other forms of life with some dark accompanying music would be a strong punctuation. But even that wouldn’t be required, just that graphic and a Stenz voiceover would have done the trick. So, rather than ending on a weak joke about blurred Titan genitals, we’d have the Oxygen Destroyer’s revelation as added tension for its eventual use.

With such wonderfully detailed renditions of the Titans, particularly the four Toho guest stars, I think they went a bit too far in trying to fit them into their environments by surrounding them with clouds, mists, and fog. This gives the Titan scenes an overall soft and painterly feel, and I can enjoy that aesthetic choice, but seeing the creatures that were so very carefully designed, and whose movements are crafted in such a convincing manner, being obscured far too often I think was an error. Dialing that back somewhat would have been a wiser choice—show us what you’ve got! Particularly in the expert choreography of the battling Titans—which in some scenes appears to have been inspired by Matt Frank’s compositional style—being able to see how the tussles and tumbles progress with greater clarity would have enhanced the viewing experience.

Wishful Thinking

I would hope that there might eventually be a “director’s cut” in some future boxed-set home video release of the MONSTERVERSE films that would relax the pace of this film somewhat—taking time to linger on the beautifully crafted images so that we won’t have to freeze-frame to savor the glories on screen. And the storyboarded but unfilmed mid-credit scene of another Mothra egg being sung to by twin young girls in another hidden temple space beneath a modern city should be added-in or at least exist as part of the extras—possibly an animated version? If the box office returns from the next installment don’t justify further live action films, it would be fun to have a MONARCH-centered animated series exploring the numerous Titans and how humanity must deal with them. The cartoon series that followed the 1998 Emmerich GODZILLA film was quite an improvement over its progenitor, so I suspect something similar could happen with this franchise going forward once live action films are no longer produced.

The Coming Conflict

Daugherty has reportedly had some plot input towards Wingard’s upcoming GODZILLA VS. KONG, and so the end titles give us glimpses into what might be to come via various briefly shown illustrated articles. One explains that the newly emerged Titans were being drawn to Skull Island, so one has to wonder if that locale could at the conclusion become the “Monster Island” of the MONSTERVERSE? That it is a gateway to the Hollow Earth is an exciting prospect, for more mysteries abound there. Already the rumor that the APEX corporation, which funded Colonel Alan Jonah’s eco-terrorists, is now behind the construction of Mechagodzilla (the toys of this character have been leaked already), who will have an ORCA variant built-in to lure Titans to the slaughter.

King Ghidorah can regenerate in an unearthly manner and the director has mentioned in interviews that his consciousness is spread through his body. Daugherty has said that whatever might have fed on the carcass head could perhaps become some sort of mutating “legion,” perpetuating King Ghidorah, from flies to any sea creatures that took a nibble, if the series goes on. The rumor mill suggests that materials from the brain of this dead head have been used to create a bio-tech controller to enhance Mechagodzilla. Now that we’ve gone to a Showa series sensibility, the film makers have a great deal of latitude for referencing some of the more fantastic concepts from earlier films. With the biggest blockbusters today being super hero fantasies, one need not try to pretend that MONSTERVERSE films are bounded by the laws of our Universe. The relatively more “realist” approach of Edwards’ 2014 GODZILLA has been evolved into a broadly fantastic approach, which reflects much of what Toho had done in all of its series.

Fan Reactions

It seems some Godzilla fans on message boards are now turning on Dougherty’s epic—everyone seems to want each new film to be their vision of the perfect Godzilla film and then disappointment sets in when it isn’t. Yet so many of the films throughout the ongoing saga of Godzilla have been silly, cheesy, daffy, and sometimes just dopey—yet many of we aficionados embrace them all for their charms, after all, we get to see more of Godzilla and his fellow daikaiju. They appeal to quite a wide range of viewers of all ages, and as one ages, different films might head a favorites list based on one’s evolving tastes. Better that more Godzilla tales are wrought and released, regardless of whatever flaws we might find. In GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS the incarnations of our old favorites and some intriguing new Titans are truly extraordinary, brought to vivid life with contemporary effects capabilities. Never before have these sorts of films been graced with such mammoth budgets and been seen by such large audiences around the globe—a golden age for Godzilla is upon us.

Huzzah Daugherty!

Despite its flaws, I find so much to love in this film, particularly that final scene. After Godzilla has vaporized his age-old rival and literally “smoked” his final head, the Titans summoned by Madison’s activation of the ORCA in Fenway Park arrive. Godzilla, battered and weary from his strivings has exhausted the energy gifted to him through his ally Mothra’s sacrifice—like Heracles after his many labors. This unbowed victor is at last confronted by the other awakened super-species. It looks like a further battle could ensue, as Rodan swoops down at last. But, that canny firebird knows his place and thus submits to the true king, with a nod and almost a courtsey-like gesture of his cape-like wings. The other Titans then “bend the knee” and Godzilla bellows his triumphant “skreeonk” as McCreary’s music superbly supports this coronation scene. I felt such a powerful frisson at that moment and do with each repeat viewing. The Titans demonstrate their consciousness, intelligence, and their sense of natural hierarchy in what is one of my favorite conclusions in the entire canon of Godzilla films.

So, I salute Daugherty and all the others involved in what for me is a grand outing for all of the Titans and a very fine addition to the roster of Godzilla’s adventures. I’ve watched it many times since I saw that first Thursday night preview screening, and I continue to enjoy it immensely. Like all of the earlier films, I don’t dwell on what I see as flaws, but I celebrate the unique wonders that have been wrought, and these abound in this Toho-redolent GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS.

The bar has been raised. Batter-up, Adam Wingard—let the MONSTERVERSE continue!

—Peter H. Gilmore

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