A few hours had passed since they boarded the Pelican. Now, the team had finally reached their destination. Noble Six stood up, adjusting his armor, as he glanced toward Master Chief.
"Chief, just so you know, I don't hate you," Noble began, his voice steady but sincere. "I get what you're going through. And, just like Sierra said, we'll get through this together."
Chief didn't respond verbally. Instead, he placed a firm hand on Noble's shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of the shared burden they carried. The cockpit light shifted from red to green, signaling the jump.
The back hatch opened, and the three Spartans dove from the Pelican, plummeting through the atmosphere. As they descended, Chief's HUD scanned the planet below. His eyes narrowed behind his visor—the entire planet was infected. Swaths of land were covered in the sickly, writhing forms of the Flood. In the distance, a massive blob-like structure pulsated rhythmically, like a grotesque heartbeat.
They hit the ground with earth-shattering force, each Spartan leaving craters in their wake. Chief was the first to draw his weapon, his posture rigid and alert.
"Stay close," Chief ordered. "Remember the mission: Find and protect Johnson."
The Flood surged toward them. Chief opened fire, his MA5D assault rifle barking out rounds. The ground quivered beneath their feet as the twisted forms of the parasite closed in. Noble Six and Sierra exchanged a brief glance, the unease palpable in the air, but both kept their composure. Losing focus now would mean the end for them all.
They moved through treacherous terrain, their every step haunted by the guttural noises of the Flood all around. Chief squeezed the trigger, feeling the weapon recoil against his shoulder. The rifle clicked empty. He went for another magazine, only to find his belt nearly bare.
"Out of ammo," Chief muttered grimly. "This is my last mag."
Sierra and Noble checked their own supplies. It was just as bad—nearly dry.
Chief raised a hand, signaling for them to halt. "Power down your weapons. We'll move in the shadows from here. Conserve what little ammo we have left. We're going to need it."
Sierra and Noble silently complied, their weapons humming softly as they powered down. The darkness around them seemed to grow heavier without the glow of their armor's lights. Chief's HUD flickered as he scanned the area, locking onto Johnson's signal.
"Shut down your suits," Chief instructed calmly. "The Flood's attracted to tech. If they're anything like they were before, they'll sense us."
"But, sir," Noble said, uncertain, "how are we supposed to find Johnson if we turn everything off?"
"I've already got his location," Chief replied. "Follow me."
They moved quietly through the infected landscape, their footfalls nearly silent against the shifting ground. The stench of decay grew stronger as they neared their objective. Finally, they found Johnson—hunkered down behind a large boulder, his eyes scanning the horizon. Around him lay the bodies of fallen Marines, all consumed by the Flood.
Chief knelt beside him, the ground trembling slightly from the weight of his armor. Johnson jolted for a moment but quickly relaxed upon recognizing the Spartans.
"Johnson," Chief said, his voice low. "Status report."
Johnson exhaled, relief mixed with frustration. "Glad you made it, Chief. While you were on your way here, I tried warning Command that this was a mistake. These Flood—they're not like the ones we fought before on the first Halo ring. They're bigger, faster... smarter. Something's changed."
Chief's visor flickered as he processed the new information. "We'll figure it out. You said they're smarter—what do you mean?"
Johnson's face was grim as he looked at each Spartan in turn. "They're adapting faster than before. They've been studying us, figuring out our weaknesses. They're already swarming this place, and it's only a matter of time before they hit us hard."
Chief glanced up at a nearby ridge. For a split second, he thought he saw a familiar holographic figure—Cortana. He shook his head, tapping the side of his helmet. The image was gone.
"Chief," Sierra's voice broke through his thoughts. "Snap out of it. We need you here."
He nodded, pushing away the hallucination. "Alright, Johnson. How do we deal with this?"
Johnson's face hardened. "You must be Noble Six. Heard a lot about you—but introductions can wait. We need to blow this planet sky high before those things make it off-world. If they get to Earth..."
Chief cut him off, his voice firm. "They'll kill us all."
Johnson gave a grave nod. "Exactly. We need to fall back to base, regroup, and plan how to take them out. Fast."
The Spartans silently agreed. They turned to move back toward the extraction point when a sudden, sickening sound erupted from the ground behind them. A massive Flood form, unlike anything they'd seen before, slithered up from a crevice. Its bloated, twisted body towered over Chief, tendrils writhing as it lurched forward.
Chief raised his weapon, aiming directly at the creature's head, but before he could fire, the Flood's arm shot out, engulfing his rifle. The gun dissolved into its body as if absorbed.
"RUN!" Johnson screamed, already turning to flee.
The Spartans sprinted toward the Pelican, their legs pounding the infected ground. Chief called for evac, his voice urgent over the comms. The Pelican descended rapidly as the Flood closed in behind them. The Spartan team barely made it aboard, the doors slamming shut as the pilot lifted off.
As the Pelican sped away, they looked back at the planet below—a grotesque, pulsing mass of infection. The Flood had taken this world, and it was only a matter of time before it spread further.
When they reached the command bridge, Chief stood silently, his mind racing with the horrors they'd just witnessed. Earth was in danger, and the Flood had changed in ways they weren't prepared for.
"We need to destroy that planet," Johnson said, breaking the silence. "Before it destroys us."
