Haaaai peeps. Sorry Ive been quiet lately been working on a personal project that will hopefully grow to a larger world and stories from it and soon a DnD campaign. But to not go completely silent as I keep plugging away at that heres an older story from the end of 2016. That I wrote for a Halo RP forums Halloween event. Hope you like :)

They asked for a plot twist, and if we could a reference to 7 (for Bungie) and 31 (Halloween)

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Ships don't just die, that's impossible, especially not Covenant ships. It just DIDN'T happen. This had to be a trick. Some kind of prank played on him during these long flights to give the other soldiers something to do. Probably the Unggoy or Kig-Yar thinking they could get a laugh at his expense...But even his info pad wasn't working when he woke up. All the lights were gone. No more quiet rumble of the engines. Nothing. He stayed in his bed for a minute as he waited to see if anything would come back, all those old lessons he was told when he was a kid coming back. Being scared of the dark was something no proud Sangheili was supposed to fear...But even the Warrior Poets of old would preach about the unknown. How caution in the face of the unknown would keep the smart alive, and only the foolish would charge ahead.

But nothing changed in the minute he lay there. Still no light.

At least it let his eyes adjust to see that his small quarters was still the same. The info pad he had left on his chest from reading was still gone however and he hadn't awoken yet. So this wasn't a dream. Something terrible had befallen Sacred Pilgrimage. Setting the info pad on the little table beside the bed he reached under it and pulled his plasma rifle from the charge station.

Click.

But the weapon didn't light up, and the charging station wasn't showing any power anyway...What in the Gods had happened? Clutching the shell tightly he tried to operate the cooling fins in the slight sight he had but it felt cold. As if it had been turned off for hours. Taking a breath he moved toward the door and set the dead rifle on the ground as he had no mounting points for it now and tried to open the door. It took some doing with no power but thankfully the locks weren't engaged and he was able to force it open. Into the equally pitch black hallway. It was at this point the boy seemed to notice that he was still breathing and not floating...So some things were still turned on here. But the lights had been cut and the reactor was running on low. This was some kind of targeted strike. He needed a weapon. Heading back to his bed he pulled out his personal box, thankfully able to see well now, and entered the small manual lock code to open it. Pulling out his Curvedagger, presented to him upon graduation that had been owned by a great warrior - a dream to aspire too, he looked back at the door. But there was something glowing and white looking at him, before it was gone.

It didn't look like an Unggoy. The dagger was clenched tighter as the useless plasma rifle was set on the table with the dead info pad before the hallway was braved. It was like his room had been. Deathly quiet. Crouching down into a slightly ready stance he moved down to the right. Toward the ready rooms and out of the resting section of the ship. It was...unnerving that the other doors were all already open. But no-one was in there even if it had been time for the day shift to sleep when he turned in. Just before he arrived at the break room a shape would be spotted in the doorway before the break room proper. The first other thing he had seen...it was a Kig-Yar. Dead. His neck looked like it had been wrung and it wasn't even in armor. Only Sangheili or Jiralhanae could have done that...what had happened?! He managed to hold back a gag as he leaned closer to see if he could tell what had happened as there was the smell of blood as well but all that he could find was some scratches made in the breastplate of the unfortunate soul. Some kind of Human scratches...two vertical half circles on top of each other and then a straight vertical dash to its right, with two small vertical dashes under it with a horizontal downward semi circle below it, barely visible in the reflective metal plate.

Carefully stepping over the slain soldier he continued into the break room. It looked pretty empty besides the tables and chairs, but the smell of death was starting to flow from all directions. Leaning against a table with his head lowered the apparently sole survivor took a moment to hold in the contents of his stomach and try to compose himself. Something had happened to this ship and crew...Something worse than he could honestly believe right now. But thirty souls used to share this space and he had only see himself and that Kig-Yar...where were the rest?

With his breath back he looked up again, dagger barely held at this point, and stumbled toward the exit and into one of the main halls. But then he saw the white glow again. Staring at him. He looked fully at it before it ducked away and running could be heard. He ran as well to try and see it as he rounded the corner, but it was just a dark blob fleeing. From the sound it seemed like it ran down a different hallway off the main one...no way to follow it now.

Now holding the dagger tighter the wielder moved over to the much larger panel on the wall, used for announcements and also ship schematics for use just in situations like this. But no matter what button he hit it was dead, just like everything else had been so far. Dead and silent; left without physical senses besides hazy vision and hearing that was being tricked by noise bouncing off all the walls when it wasn't just nothing. All the technology of the Covenant gone and replaced by blackness, like some kind of Hell. All of his senses lessoned and played with like he was drowning. Flailing in the dark in the hope of some kind of salvation.

At least he was still alive...he needed to get to the reactor and find out what had happened. It was still active it had just been turned to not support some tasks for some reason.

Getting up close to the wall so he could read the navigation signs he headed toward reactor. Completely lost in the ship he had spent months on. Nothing was familiar in this black sea of distant noises and otherworldly silence. Not even the floor was something he knew and could find solace in. Especially not when he nearly tripped over another shape in the darkness. Catching himself on the wall he looked down and groaned. Another dead soldier...Unggoy with half of his head caved in and leaking methane, blood, and brain. Using the wall to steady himself as he staggered away his eyes snapped forward at another noise. Much louder than before.

Around the corner rounded a new glow, gold like the sunset and at the level of his own head. There was a loud kha-chunk before somthing very sturdy was jammed against his throat, making him stagger backwards and trip over his own feet. Ending up looking at the massive armored shape as it looked down with weapon pointed right at his eyes, and t




"Going to stop you there. Your English is very impressive but if I am getting the gist of the story you are painting the Humans as the aggressors and the young split face as the victim? Dare I say putting a Spartan as the 'evil' party?"

The stout Unggoy looked up from the rough script he had been reading, his pride and joy rough script, and nodded. Maybe the Seventh time would be the charm? Maybe the editor was into that angle?

"...Right, you can clearly write and read so you aren't an idiot but that's not going to fly around here. We didn't spend nearly thirty years trying to wipe out their entire civilization and history of them. Change around the positions and we can maybe talk."

Showing an admirable amount of restraint the Unggoy just replied at a normal volume. "But everyone can be and was monsters during that time, not just the Sangheil," but he was interrupted.

"I don't care about what you believe to be the case, but I don't want it. Get out." The Human seemed quite angry that Belop had even suggested such a notion. So the Unggoy just nodded, removed himself from the chair, and left. Another rejection from a publishing house.

Just like everything else these days; endless rejection, endless failure, and endless reminders that he was never going to make Writing work for him...