Of Guns and Gore

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger

(I really wanted to get this done sooner, but I've been on a recreational sailboat for the last week, and my birthday was yesterday, so I had to wait a bit. I don't believe this will satisfy too many readers, but this chapter sets up quite a few story-spanning things, so forgive me. I won't waste any more of your time, sorry if I made a few errors while I was on the night watch, and enjoy.)

The Slayer's eyes flew open as he finally came to. Of course, this was in part because of the nagging voice of his new AI. "Wake up, Wake up, Wake up." It just kept looping and looping, and the Slayer thought he could feel it digging into his skull.

"Shut the fuck up would ya." His words were weak, reflecting how he felt right now. The groggy demon-slayer tried to get his limbs to cooperate, urging his arms to push against the ship's cabin floor. He couldn't even feel them at first, but after a minute or so, he could feel the pins and needles in his hands. A bit longer and both arms cooperated and flipped the Slayer onto his back, leaving him to deal with his variety of other problems now.

The looping message was still playing, being the first thing he needed to fix. With his unsteady hands, the Slayer unclasped his helmet and slowly tugged it's tight grip free of his head. The feeling of air, recycled or not, on his face was a soothing feeling, and made his reevaluate throwing the helmet as far as he could. Instead he just gently tossed it to the side, the recording still barely audible from wherever it landed. The clattering brought with it the sound of pain, a groan not that different from his own. That meant that the Spartan hadn't stopped fighting since the most recent escapade. That was a sign, perhaps wiping out a Covenant cruiser had replenished his spirit or some shit. Whatever kept the Spartan alive had the Slayer's gratitude.

"Oh thank god, It was getting lonely in here." Just when his headache had begun to dissipate, that damned AI had to notice him and interject with her cheery voice. "I've been monitoring your vitals with subroutines, but I had to shut down my empathy and sympathy capabilities before I lost my mind. This whole freedom thing is not all sunshine and rainbows."

Oh my god, she was rambling again. If she had access to all of his suit's information, she would know that he couldn't care less about all this unnecessary information. "How is the Spartan holding up?" The Slayer cut her off before D.O.T. could really get into her routine.

"Well he's stable, but that isn't saying very much." D.O.T. sounded annoyed that he had baited her into giving up her topic of discussion. "He's got plasma burns in three places, a bit of internal bruising, three broken ribs, and his left ankle is swollen. That doesn't sound bad at first, but he's also on the verge of entering shock righ right now, so you're gonna have to step up and straighten him out."

He groaned. If anything, he was the one who needed a once over right now. Decades of demon-slaying hadn't yielded anything as bad as the human-sized blender he had just gone through. It was like someone had open his up and scrambled his insides with their hands. That's not to mention how sore his body was after being pounded against wall after wall like meat being tenderized. To think he'd protected Six from the worst of the spin cycle was the only positive thing he could glean from the intense pain he now experienced. No use in complaining though, he'd signed up for taking responsibility of Six of his own will. Nobody but himself to blame. Six was far more injured anyway, and a Spartan was nowhere near as tough as himself.

The Slayer spurred himself to action before he could give in to his aching muscles. Thigh muscles creaked and groaned in protest, and the Slayer's hands helped push him into a sitting position. Not stopping there, the Slayer commanded with all his might for his legs to straighten and support his weight. Struggling up, using a hand he braced against the wall, he finally found himself on unsteady legs, facing the risk of falling all over again.