Location: UNSC Forward Operating Base, Avenport, Virek
Date and Time: December 17, 2552 – 0900 Hours
The forward operating base is quieter than it should be. I can hear the hum of the power generators, the occasional clink of metal on metal from nearby repairs, but there's something missing—a tension that everyone feels but no one talks about. The fight with the URF has left its mark on us, more than we'd like to admit.
I stand just outside the makeshift infirmary, leaning against a stack of crates, my rifle resting across my chest. Inside, Doc Alvarez is still patching up Frost and Dash, working to stabilize them after the firefight in the abandoned district. They'll be fine. Doc made sure of that. But the reality of what we walked into—what we survived—isn't sitting right with me.
Across the yard, Grayson is in a hushed conversation with the platoon leadership. He keeps glancing in my direction, but his face is unreadable. I don't know what's being said, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out we're in for something more. The URF isn't just hiding anymore. They're out in the open, and we're caught in the middle.
The door to the infirmary swings open, and Santiago steps out, adjusting his gear and giving me a nod. "They're stable," he says. "Doc's got them in good hands. We just have to wait."
I nod back, but I don't say anything. There's too much running through my mind to form words right now. Santiago leans against the crates next to me, letting out a long breath. For once, he doesn't crack a joke. The weight of the past 24 hours hangs between us like a storm cloud.
"You good, Kowalski?" he asks after a long pause.
I shrug. "I don't know. It's just… everything happened so fast. One second, we're clearing that warehouse, the next, Frost is down, and we're running for our lives."
Santiago nods, staring off into the distance. "That's how it goes, man. Combat isn't clean. It's not supposed to be."
I can hear the truth in his words, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I thought I knew what combat was—what war was. But this? Fighting against people, not aliens, not monsters from the other side of the galaxy? That's different. I've heard the stories, the old war vids, but living it… that's something else.
Grayson approaches, his boots crunching over the gravel. His face is as hard as stone, the way it always is after a debrief. He doesn't say anything at first, just stands there, looking between us like he's measuring something in his head.
"We've got new orders," he finally says, his voice low. "Platoon's been assigned to track the URF presence. We're going out again."
I feel my stomach twist at the words. We barely made it out last time, and now we're going back? Santiago exchanges a glance with me but says nothing.
"When?" I ask, my voice sounding more hollow than I intended.
"Tomorrow. Early," Grayson replies. "Get your rest. We'll need it."
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I try to focus on cleaning my gear, running through my drills, anything to take my mind off the gnawing feeling in my gut. But it's there, sitting heavy and cold like a weight I can't shake.
That night, I lie in my bunk, staring up at the ceiling. The room is dark, and the rest of Bravo Fireteam is asleep, but I can't. Every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of the warehouse, hear the gunfire, feel the rush of adrenaline as I pulled Frost and Dash to safety.
I can't stop thinking about how close we came to losing them. One wrong move, one second of hesitation, and they wouldn't be here. None of us would.
Morning comes too quickly. I barely slept, but there's no time to think about it. The base is already buzzing with activity as we prepare for the mission. Grayson calls us together for the briefing, his expression as cold and focused as ever.
"We've got intel on another URF cell operating out of a nearby industrial zone," he says, his voice steady. "Our job is to move in, secure the area, and neutralize the threat. We've got support this time—1st Squad will be backing us up. But we need to move fast. The longer we wait, the more entrenched they get."
I nod, trying to push down the nervous energy coiling in my chest. Santiago catches my eye and gives me a small nod. "We've got this," he says quietly.
I want to believe him.
We load up into the transport, the familiar hum of the engine filling the air as we rumble out of the base. I sit in the back, my rifle resting across my knees, my mind racing with thoughts of the last mission. The weight of what's coming presses down on me, and I can feel the tension building between us all.
Grayson sits near the front, his eyes scanning the landscape as we roll toward the industrial zone. He's calm, but I know him well enough by now to see the small signs of stress. The tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers twitch toward his sidearm. He feels it too. This mission isn't like the others. The URF is ready for us, and this time, they're not going to let us walk away without a fight.
The industrial zone comes into view, a sprawling complex of rusting metal and crumbling buildings. The air smells of oil and decay, and the ground is littered with debris from old machinery and forgotten equipment. It feels like a battlefield waiting to happen.
We disembark, weapons ready, moving quickly and quietly through the narrow alleys between the buildings. 1st Squad is already in position, covering the perimeter, and Grayson gives the signal to move in.
We sweep the first building, our footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floors. My heart pounds in my chest, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow, waiting for something—anything—to jump out at us. But it's quiet. Too quiet.
"Clear," I whisper as we finish the sweep.
We move on to the next building, the tension growing with each step. My finger hovers near the trigger, every nerve in my body on edge. We're walking into a trap—I can feel it.
Suddenly, gunfire erupts from the far side of the complex. The sharp crack of bullets echoes through the air, and I drop to the ground, my heart leaping into my throat.
"Contact!" Grayson shouts, his voice barely audible over the noise. "Take cover!"
We scatter, finding whatever cover we can behind the rusting remains of old machinery. I raise my rifle, scanning the area for the source of the gunfire. Figures move in the distance—shadows darting between the buildings, firing at us from all sides.
"We're pinned!" Santiago yells, his voice tight with adrenaline.
Grayson motions for us to hold position, laying down suppressive fire as we try to get a handle on the situation. Bullets ricochet off the metal around me, and I can feel the heat of the fight pressing in on all sides.
I take a deep breath, my hands steady despite the chaos. This is it. The fight we knew was coming. And there's no backing down now.