Halo: Orion's Belt

Dusk

Silence.

Darkness.

These were the words that passed through Wraith's mind as he sat on a bench within the rear hangar of the UNSC Stealth Frigate Tracker. The stars were empty and cold, much like the atmosphere in the ship, against the black cape that served as the background. 

His kind of place.

Through his helmet, he let out an inaudible grunt as he shifted his weight on the bench, watching the ship's crew running back and forth in between vehicles as marines shuffled through the crowds, nudging stubborn workers with the butts of the rifles to get them to move. Down by one of the many Falcon vehicles stored on board in the hanger stood a SPARTAN-III, wearing silver and blue Mjolnir armour and a Recon Helmet. Her blue visor matched the stripes on her gear, yet the grey sword with golden wings against a maroon shield backdrop stuck out like a sore thumb on her shoulder. 

One of the crewmen walked up to the Spartan, who removed their helmet to talk to him: her face was surprisingly soft and delicate for a warrior, if you weren't to count the messy scar traversing her face from the right corner of her forehead, across her nose, and down to her left cheekbone. Her jaw-length black hair, still shining from the sweat of battle, had a slight bounce to it as she nodded to the man. Wraith enjoyed watching his battle-sister, if only because of the fascinating scar she'd recently received.

A shadow loomed over Wraith, who looked up to see a massive SPARTAN-II in green Mjolnir armour, his face concealed by the infamous Hazop battlemask. Wraith pulled his cloak's hood over his head and stood up, only coming up to the larger Spartan's chin. Still, Wraith did not fear this one at all.

The green Spartan removed his helmet, revealing a olive-skinned, battle-scarred face with deep brown eyes. His hair was buzzed, save for a strip in the middle that seemed almost to be a clipped mohawk hairstyle. His unshaven chin greatly contrasted the hair on his head.

"Wraith." He began. "What are you doing here? I never thought you were a fan of the hangar." 

Wraith shrugged and removed his hood, letting it drape against the back of his cloak to cover the UNSC insignia. He then removed his Mark V black-and-purple-tiger-striped helmet and rested it under his shoulder, revealing his own face as almost a sign of respect to his old friend. His skin, too, was olive-coloured, yet slightly paler. He sported thick stubble that could almost be mistaken for a thin bear, and his full head of hair was tattered and thrown all over the place, held above his face only by the ragged purple headband. His deep-set grey eyes were thin and shaded, matching the ferocity of the scar drawn across his nose, as well as the two matching ones horizontal under his left eye. His long, straight nose gave him a stern look.

"The dark here is calming. This ship doesn't have many windows, and all the parts that do are so crowded. Up here, above the hangar, yet still able to view the black space outside...I like it." He responded in a gravelly voice. The other Spartan shrugged indifferently and patted his shoulder before turning away, obviously motioning for Wraith to follow him. "I'm assuming, however, that you didn't find me just to talk about my location preferences, Jordis." The larger Spartan nodded while still looking forward and turned the corner into the hallway.

"We just escaped Reach a day ago, but that doesn't mean the Covenant will stop tracking is. Adding to the fact that our slipspace drive was damaged in the last attack, as were our stealth systems, it's safe to assume that we would be otherwise screwed were it not for Michelle. But we're running out of power in all other systems as well, and we've got to land somewhere and hope to God that someone finds us before the Covies do." He explained as he pushed his way through a few idling crewmen. Wraith furrowed his intense brow, trying to comprehend the Colonel's request.