Galaxy Wars

ERROR 406

Blaster fire seared the air, filling the shattered ruins of an alien city with a bright, chaotic symphony. Eighty sprinted between jagged, crumbling pillars, his tactical boots kicking up dust with each step. Covenant Elites towered in the distance, their energy swords crackling to life as they charged forward, flanked by a squad of Geth platforms—swarms of mechanical eyes glinting under the dim starlight of a war-torn sky. Their alliance was uneasy, but their objective clear: eliminate the lone mercenary tearing through their forces.

Eighty's visor blinked red with targeting data as he spun around mid-run. His MA5B assault rifle barked in rapid succession, spitting high-velocity rounds that tore through the shields of an advancing Elite, the shimmering barrier collapsing just in time for a final, fatal shot to the head. The alien collapsed in a heap, its energy sword flickering out of existence.

No time to relish the kill. The Geth's machine-like precision sent volleys of plasma fire his way, each one nearly grazing his armor. One struck his shoulder plate, the impact spinning him off balance for a second.

"Keep moving," he growled, voice distorted by the deep, unnatural timbre of his voice changer. His breath was heavy, adrenaline flooding every nerve as he dashed into cover behind a collapsed wall. The Geth adjusted, their neural network recalculating new firing patterns. Their cold, unfeeling optics focused on him as they advanced, only to be met by the sudden eruption of plasma grenades. Two of the synthetics were blown apart, limbs scattering like shrapnel.

Eighty smirked beneath his helmet. "Gotcha."

He vaulted over the debris, firing his rifle on full auto. The last Geth platform was shredded by armor-piercing rounds, collapsing into a twitching heap. He didn't have time to celebrate; the sound of heavy footsteps behind him sent a shiver through his spine. The mechanical hiss of a Stormtrooper's armor echoed through the ruins.

Eighty spun just in time to dodge the downward slash of a vibroblade aimed at his neck. The Stormtrooper had closed the distance faster than expected. Eighty's rifle clattered to the ground, but he responded with swift brutality. Grabbing the Trooper's wrist mid-swing, he pulled them off balance and slammed a combat knife straight through the black visor. The blade sank deep with a sickening crunch. The trooper jerked violently, then went limp, collapsing at his feet.

Eighty twisted the knife free and stepped back, letting the body fall, sparing no second glance. He sheathed the blade with a flourish and grabbed his rifle off the ground, checking the ammo count. Low, but enough to finish the job.

He glanced toward the nearby terminal—ancient tech by the looks of it, scavenged and rigged together with parts from various factions. His helmet's HUD flickered as he connected, fingers gliding over the cracked screen. A secure frequency pulsed into existence, linking him to the comms network of a distant, but all-too-familiar, enemy.

Handsome Jack's grinning face appeared on the screen, distorted by static. His cocky drawl cut through the chaos like nails on a chalkboard.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Eighty, my favorite little freelancer. I heard you've been causing some ruckus down there. You're really putting a dent in my business, and I gotta say, I'm not thrilled about it."

Eighty didn't bother with pleasantries. His modulated voice dropped even lower, turning into a rumbling growl. "I'm coming for you, Jack. I'll carve through every one of your hired guns, blow up every Hyperion installation, and when I find you..." He leaned closer to the terminal, his visor reflecting Jack's grin back at him. "I'm gonna end you."

For a brief moment, Jack's confident smirk faltered, then he chuckled. "Oh, scary! Love the voice thing, by the way. Really intimidating. But let me tell you something, pal—you're in way over your head. You're playing a game where I make the rules. So why don't you just take your little threats and—"