#tw:sci fi violence

[corey-067]

Whump Prompt 26 - Shot.

I fear that I'll fail to bring across the depth of what's in my mind, yet again. But here we go! This only took me about 3+ weeks to write.

TWs: Blood, injury detail, PTSD flashbacks, sci-fi violence (Halo-typical) The worst of it is under the cut. I'd like to thank CIA391 from Halopedia for the info and chat we had about the Blamite and how it works, plus the Superfund peeps for keeping me motivated to write when it's been grinding to a halt.

"Arcus Actual, Arcus Two: we've got the spaceport on lockdown. Got a fair few Covie vehicles here, some gear they were trying to get out before we took 'em down."

"Arcus Actual. Nice work, Spartans. We'll be in touch shortly."

The Spartan ducked to the side, his armor blaring warnings at him as a beam rifle strike intended for Commander Lasky struck Corey's chest, his shields taking the brunt of the impact - though he staggered from the force of the shot. Captain Del Rio had sent Lasky and a small contingent of Marines to scout out a former Covenant supply depot - one which supposedly contained a number of Forerunner relics. "Keep your damned head down!" The Spartan-II snapped, suddenly realizing who he was talking to. "Sir." He muttered. 'Spartan time' was in full effect, and he searched for the familiar red glow of the Jackal's helmet, his eyes recovering quickly from the afterburn from the beam.

"Two o'clock high! Suppressing fire!" Corey bellowed into the comms, forcing Lasky into what passed for cover as though he weighed nothing. They could observe proper etiquette when his charge - his friend - wasn't in danger. Shots rang out, followed by the whoosh of an M41 rocket launcher. The satisfaction of the detonation was only surpassed by the squawk of the Jackal in question, and a grim smirk crossed his hidden features. Gesturing for the marines to circle the complex, Corey tossed a pair of grenades into what his motion tracker told him was the last holdout of enemies in play. They detonated, and bodies went flying.

The trouble with motion trackers was simple. They were perfect for detecting incoming threats, and he'd even worked with several of the toys that ONI had developed to identify the electronic frequencies which the Elites' active camouflage gave off. If a second sniper was set back outside of the forty-meter range of his motion tracker, but also immobile, they were incredibly difficult to spot, even for someone with a Spartan's enhanced vision. His hand was still on Lasky's shoulder, keeping the Commander down behind the nanolaminate wall when the shots rang out.

Corey's reflexes were perhaps the fastest of any Spartan-II outside of Kelly, and only Kelly had been able to defeat him consistently in terms of raw speed - with his HERMES-class Mjolnir armor he was practically untouchable. The sound of shattering glass pierced the whine of his shield monitor, as the first of three blamite shards from a needle rifle struck the top of the wall. He was moving, faster than Lasky had seen a human - Spartan or not - move. It wasn't enough. It saved his life, without question - he still had vivid memories of what one of those needles could do to an unshielded Spartan, as Kat had died before he'd even managed to catch her. Corey only managed to move enough to turn a lethal blow into a gut shot, the third needle glancing off of the top of his domed visor.

He dropped behind cover, and Lasky stared at him, calling for a medic on comms, but receiving only static in reply. There was a level of panic radiating from the commander that Corey had never seen, in all the years he'd known the man. "Lasky!" Half a tonne of Spartan slammed into the nanolaminate surface, and Corey could see that Infinity's commander was somewhere else entirely.

He was shocked that the blamite crystal hadn't detonated, the pink-purple shard was pulsing, threatening to do just that, and it'd lodged itself directly beneath his armor plate. It needed to removing carefully, and he didn't have an angle to do so. Lasky was miles, or perhaps years away, and Corey knew that he had to reach him.

"Lasky!" He barked again, with all the authority he could muster. In his mind, it was the voice of Chief Mendez, the authoritative bark he heard whenever he needed to push himself just that little bit harder. The part of a soldier's brain which resonates with that tone, drilled in from morning to night for years woke up, and he blinked rapidly, memories of the bodies of his classmates drifting into the background of his vision, threatening to resurface at any time.

Everything was a blur. Smoke and shadow, darkness lit by streaks of green and pink, the muzzle flashes of ODST's fighting a valiant, losing fight. Mehaffey had been protecting him, as well. "Get to the dorm! Go!" Her gestures were frantic, but she remained in control. "Go! Go! GO!" And then that sound, needler fire struck her chest, her shoulders and took her off of her feet. His mind was on a loop, deafened by the cacophony of this brand new war that had burst into their young lives in a blaze of plasma fire. A hand grabbed him, hard, dragging him into the light...

"Tom, I need you here. Now." Corey was holding the wound closed around the shard, he needed it gone, but it was all Tom could do to look his reflection in the face. He slipped back into it.

It was a nightmare; it had to be. Aliens? Here? Hastati was cut in half, only saved by the timely intervention of Master Chief 117. He never found out his name, if he even had one, just the number stenciled onto his armor. He trusted the Chief with his life, though he couldn't place why, and that trust was well placed, as he took fire, saving them again. Sully was hit but walking. General Black's lifeless eyes haunted him as he dragged his body from his Warthog, and fear kept his head down as he tried desperately to get the vehicle started. And then they were clear. It was incredibly surreal, escaping into the forest, weapons blaring around him as those creatures with shields fell, Chyler putting her years of rifle training to efficient use. They were retreating as the Spartan, and the cadre of cadets sped towards the Pelican. Someone yelled, he wasn't quite sure who, and the vehicle was blasted by the wash of a plasma grenade. The cadet slammed on the brakes, fearing that he'd send them off into the trees if he didn't stop until his vision cleared, the thump of a jackal hitting the windshield reminding him that he needed to get the engine running as fast as possible, but it wasn't working.

The report of a Battle Rifle firing jogged Tom out of his reverie, the Spartan beside him finding it in himself to take out the sniper, despite his injury. The first burst missed entirely, but the next was on point. Three rounds, spread further than usual because he was shaking with the effort to hold himself up pierced the Jackal's skull, killing it instantly. Corey could feel the blood beneath his armor's undersuit, and he dropped. It was far from the most blood he'd lost, but he knew he needed it sealing, and soon.

Gunfire wasn't enough to break Lasky from his waking nightmare entirely, and Corey was running out of options, aside from simply slapping his face.

"Tom? Tom?!" Each moment that he didn't react, Chyler's voice became more panicked. Once he realized what was going on, he screamed for the Chief, but he had no biofoam. They had to get her to the Pelican before she bled out, which would've been a challenge on a good day, and today was definitely not one of those. They ran as best as they could, panting breaths and Chyler's whimpers punctuated only by the staccato sound of 117's assault rifle and the roars of the creature that dwarfed even their savior. Terror propelled them forward, but that adrenaline only carried them so far. They were all exhausted and had been running on fumes since the invasion had started. They were cadets, not ODSTs; they weren't prepared for this. How could they be?

More Covenant troops were exiting the facility, and Corey would've typically used this time to rush the doors, blast his way through the Covie line and get inside, a tactic the Spartans had used to great effect on numerous occasions. His body geared itself up for the sprint, even before the logical aspect of his brain reminded him that he had to protect Tom until the Marines returned, and the pain told him that he was still injured. His shields refused to recharge, likely because of the Subanese shard sticking through his abdomen. Corey released his hold on the crystal, a strange combination of pulsing heat and cold, he pulled the fiberoptic camera from a pouch attached to his armor. The camera displayed on his HUD, and if he'd had more time, he'd have connected the Smart Link from his BR-55 as well, but as it was, he just had to make guesses. At the whine of a plasma grenade on the other side of their barrier, the Spartan covered the Commander's form with his armored body, the detonation shaking Tom out of his reverie, as tears streamed down his cheek, dripping onto his fist that appeared to be miming holding another person's hand.

Corey fired blind, adjusting the angle of his rifle based on the trace of each three round burst. He killed two of the new arrivals, though he managed to drive the rest back into cover, waiting for them to pop their heads up.

"You've seen this before, haven't you, sir?" The Spartan asked, noting Lasky's reaction as his eyes flickered down to the injury.

The Commander nodded; his eyes glassy with tears. Corey recalled John telling him what had happened during their evacuation of Corbulo - the way that his friend had died. Corey winced, though not from the pain. Along with Linda, he'd flown the Pelican out of there, but he'd not met any of the cadets when they reached their destination, not meeting Lasky until years later, during his pilot days.

"I understand that this is painful for you, sir, but I need you to focus." Corey rumbled. "The Marines will be back soon, but we need to take the first steps n- keep your damned head down, sir!" The Spartan's voice was warm and steady, holding a comforting certainty that hadn't been getting through to Infinity's XO until he got snappy. He wasn't feeling as confident as he sounded, but he knew that he needed to project that for Lasky's sake.

Lasky came closer, and as he took a closer look at Corey's wound, the remaining color drained from his face. He looked as though he was about to either vomit or vanish into his head once again, until the Spartan gripped his arm, hard. The pain was enough to keep him focused on the present. "Look, Tom, this won't kill me, but I need your help." He shook the Commander's arm, for emphasis. "Focus on my voice, Tom. Everything will be okay, and I just need you to focus on doing as I say. I'll walk you through it." He paused a moment, switching off his vocoder as he gasped with pain. "Freya, can you make sure that my shields don't recharge? Last thing I need is to be ripped apart because that energy overloads the crystal."

There was a momentary pause, and the alarm cut. "I've disconnected it from your armor's power supply, Corey. Just remember not to stick your head into the line of fire until after we've booted it back up. I'm not a fan of you injuring yourself." Despite the rich amusement in the AI's tone, he knew that she was entirely serious.

"Yes dear." He deadpanned, and for a moment her avatar glowed green on his HUD, arms crossed and shaking her head.

"What do you need me to do?" Lasky's shaky voice cut in. There he was - the soldier that John had described from Corbulo. Brave despite what he was feeling, or perhaps because of it. Corey passed him a biofoam canister, a small model which he kept on his belt for extended field missions, something that came in useful in this case as his suit's injectors were either empty, or the local one was damaged, and he hadn't realized. Ideally, the shard would've been removed with actual medical equipment, but it wasn't the first time he'd had to improvise in the field.

Finding a neatly folded square of slightly grease-splattered cloth in one of his belt pouches, he passed it over as well. Tom was shaking, perhaps too much to do what was necessary, and Corey's eyes darted rapidly from side to side as he searched the officer's face, searching for something for him to hold onto. He couldn't comfort him the way he did other Spartans, it simply wasn't enough for the vast majority of people. "Pop open the biofoam canister, ready to use. One layer of cloth around your fingers, to avoid any potential charge transference," Corey told him, forced steadiness in his tone. It might have been seconds, minutes or even hours since he took the hit, but he could feel that he needed this dealt with now. "Take hold of the end in one hand, slide it towards you, gently, as straight as you can. Biofoam goes in straight after."

"Okay." The Commander breathed, his fingers shaking.

"Tom, look at me. The Master Chief believed in you, all those years ago. If he were here today, he would still. I know that because I do. Right here and now. You can do this." Lasky's eyes hardened, his jaw setting at the mention of John, the confidence that he'd shown in Tom all those years ago still stirred something in him now. He wouldn't let him down.

His gauntlet-clad fist squeezed his battle rifle with enough force that the casing creaked, cracking under his powerful grip, heat, and cold, as well as jolts of electrical charge, coursing through the area of the wound as the subanese crystal shivered its way free. Tom inserted the biofoam end, and the sensation changed, a combination of a crawling itch, pain, and relief blending themselves together as the life-saving substance did its work.

"Save some, Tom." He gestured towards the crystal. "Coat that in it, and let's get it into the canister. It's rare that we see them like this outside of lab conditions, maybe it'll give us new answers." He was in too much pain to smile with any feeling, so out of reflex, two fingers came up in front of his mouth, swiping across quickly, as the Commander frowned, then realization set in.