[CRYO-3B] Awakening...

[Durant, M.]

1730 HOURS, MAY 1, 2542 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \
ABOARD MARATHON-CLASS CRUISER UNSC VENGEANCE,
IN SLIPSPACE, LOCATION UNKNOWN

Reality struck him like a brick wall. One moment he'd been dreaming about his childhood - playing tag with some friends he hadn't associated with for years in the backyard of his parent's estate - and the next he opened his eyes to find himself encased inside a cryogenic stasis pod. The sudden shift from dream to the real world was disorienting. He tried to wrap his head around as his eyes darted from place-to-place, claustrophobia setting in against his wishes. To make matters worse, his throat felt hoarse and a split-second later he was coughing violently. Mucus sprayed across the pane of glass that rested between him and freedom. He heard the mechanical wirrings of the pod as it cycled, preparing to pop open. If there was one irrefutable truth about cryogenic sleep, it was this: cryosleep was wholly unpleasant.

A long pneumatic hiss resounded in his ears as the hatch to the pod opened, ascending towards the ceiling. He carefully attempted to take his first step forward since he'd entered the pod, and ended up failing miserably. His knee buckled and he collapsed, tossing his arms out in front of him to keep himself from completely sprawling out on the cold metal floor. Mucus flowed from his nose like a waterfall, and he felt another coughing fit coming along as his body attempted to expel the bronchial surfactant and cytoprethaline from his system. He hocked up a wad of saliva and spit out on the floor. Normally it should've been clear, but due to the surfactant it had an unnatural tint to it. The taste that sat on his tongue revolted him, and he squinted in disgust at it.

After another bout of coughing, he swallowed what had risen up in the back of his throat, and pushed himself up off the floor. He glanced down at his naked form and scratched at his lower abdomen feverently. The Vengeance had been commissioned in 2529, back when the Mark VII Personal Suspension Units were still standard-issue on all naval vessels. After years of complaints, the UNSC contracted Jakubaitis Standard Systems to design a new model of Cryo Pod. The problem he was having, and a great many others that have spent time in the Mark VII pods, is that they were designed with inferior moisture balancing. This resulted in dry, itchy skin, to which he would now be forced to suffer through for the next day or so. The new Mark VIII Cryogenic Suspension Chambers fixed this minor defect. Unfortunately, the Vengeance would probably never be retrofitted with the new pods. So far as he'd been made aware, only new ships were being built with the Mark VIII's installed.

Michael glanced to his right and his left at the other pods. Stored inside of them were the members of Oscar Company's second platoon. My platoon, he reminded himself. One of the pods opened seconds later, and out of it emerged Gunnery Sergeant Jace Cruz, the platoon's sergeant. Several Cryo Technicians entered the bay and began to individually thaw each of his men. Michael's brow arched in confusion, and he habitually glanced up at the ceiling. "Beatrice," he called, to seemingly no one in particular.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Beatrice, the Vengeance's "smart" AI responded. Beatrice was an eccentric and relatively young AI, having been brought into service nearly a year ago. Her avatar and personality was that of a World War II American nurse. She had quite the quirky disposition.

"You've initiated the thawing process for my platoon," the Lieutenant stated, his confusion and curiosity apparent in his tone. "Why?"

The AI's response came near-instantaneously. "Why, those were Admiral MacArthur's orders. We're due to exit slip-space in a about fifteen minutes. I was instructed to inform you that you're to report to Briefing Room Five for a mission briefin'. As per protocol, you're to remain in the cryo bay until everyone in your platoon is thawed, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, yeah," Durant mumbled under his breath. "Thank you, Beatrice. Let the Admiral know we'll be there."

"Can do, Lieutenant."

And with that, their conversation had ended. Lieutenant Durant waited as forty-some odd pods cycled through the thawing process and popped open. As this occurred, he took the liberty of getting dressed in his fatigues. He approached one of the many storage lockers and opened the one where he'd stored his belongings. He then proceeded to get dressed. By the time he was finished, the majority of his platoon were exiting their pods. They all suffered similar reactions to being abruptly awakened as he had, and he continued to wait until they'd all returned to their senses and began to fall in line before him. Like he'd been just moments ago, they were all naked, and yet this didn't seem to bother any of them as they took up their positions in formation and snapped to attention before him. They'd been through this routine before, and due to the fact that military training had been co-ed for well over three hundred years, they were all quite familiar with human anatomy; both male and female.

Durant cleared his throat and glanced at his platoon sergeant. He'd been assigned to Oscar Company seven months ago and had his combat leadership skills tested more than once in that time. While he was still relatively new, he wasn't exactly a "boot" officer anymore. The last several months had been rather educational as he learned how to be a leader of Marines for real, and not just in training. Despite all the time he'd spent in the combat simulators and in the field with his fellow officer candidates, none of it had held a candle to the real thing - with real Marines - and he'd had to learn very quickly to improvise, adapt, and overcome. Sometimes he found it miraculous he was even still alive. But, he had faith that Oden was watching over him, and he would continue to lead his men into battle until his time in this realm was up.

"Marines," the Lieutenant began, scrutinizing each and every one of them for a moment, "you're probably wondering what's going on. According to Beatrice, Admiral MacArthur wants us assembled in Briefing Room Five on A-Deck right away. We're about to exit slipspace shortly. So get dressed and form up." He ended his speech and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for his Marines to square themselves away. As they did, his thoughts wandered. He wondered what kind of a mission they'd been tasked with. When he'd entered the freezer, the plan had been to make a stop at Sigma Octanus IV for repair and retrofit of the Vengeance and so that the First Battalion could replenish its numbers. Many damn fine Marines had lost their lives in the last several months. Hell, he'd been assigned to the platoon after its last platoon commander had been killed in action. Blown up, he'd heard.

Durant glanced at his watch and noted the time. 1743.

He frowned.

"Hurry up, people," he barked in an attempt to motivate his troops to move faster. "We don't have all day."

[Cruz, J.]

Gunnery Sergeant Jace Cruz felt like he had only been in the cryo-pod a few minutes before he was thawed. His eyelids, still damp and cold from the melting ice, darted open as he erupted in a coughing fit. He felt a small amount of bile rise in his throat before exiting his mouth. He hated cryo-sleep with a fiery passion. The only comforting thought, taste rather, was the flavor of a putrid lime covering his taste buds. Somebody once explained that the flavor was something that he had to ingest in a mixture before cryo due to the nutrients that it provides the body.

”Still tastes like shit,” Cruz mumbled as he stood up.

The air in the room felt moderately warm despite the frozen capsules behind him. Looking around the cryo-room, Cruz heard the end of the conversation Lieutenant Durant was having with Beatrice. The quirky nurse A.I. looked over at Cruz and winked before she disappeared to do what Durant had asked. Cruz shook his head to get rid of any moisture that was hanging to his short black hair.

Durant was already half dressed as Cruz stopped in front of his locker. The man took in a deep breath as he opened his locker, which brought on a few more dry coughs. The picture of his wife and child caught his eye. Becky had not aged a day since their first date. Her youthful look made him miss the days when he was with her and made his next leave so much more enjoyable; IF he ever got leave again.

”Good whenever the fuck time of day it is to you sire” Cruz said as he pulled his pants on. He had just buttoned his pants when Beatrice popped up on the A.I pedestal behind him.

”You’re gonna have to take those off again Marine. I need to give you your physical,” She said in her best erotic voice.

Jace laughed a bit at this, ”You know I’m married Beatrice. Besides Becky would love to tear your processors apart slowly just to teach you a lesson about flirting with me.”

He quickly finished getting dressed and passed by the A.I. before she could respond. He listened to his CO before getting the Marines of Oscar Company moving.

"You heard the man. MOVE!"

[Stone, T.]

The edges of reality seeped into Sergeant Thomas Stone's psyche just as he was experiencing the final moments of a dream. He'd been back on Harvest, sitting atop an inert JOTUN watching the rise of the Epsilon Indi, the system's star. The bright orange tint of the sky as the sun peeked over the distant horizon was absolutely breathtaking. A sight that he hadn't seen in well over twenty years, and one that he sourly missed. The aging Marine's eyes suddenly shot open as his body thawed and the process of regurgitation took place. The contents of his stomach, the meal he'd ingested prior to stepping into the freezer, spewed out onto the floor before him. Stone's heaved a labored breath and his face scrunched up into a look of disgust at the taste in his mouth. 

Of all the things he enjoyed about the military, Cryosleep was not one of them. Waking up from the freezer always put him in a sour disposition - and today was no different. The Sergeant shook his head and cleared his mind as he stepped out onto the ice-cold deck of the Cryo Bay. His steely grey eyes scanned the immediate area until they met the visage of Lieutenant Durant and Gunnery Sergeant Cruz. The grizzled veteran noted that technicians were quickly moving about in an attempt to hastily thaw the rest of the platoon. This caused him to wonder whether or not they'd reached Sigma Octanus or not. 

Lieutenant Durant's announcement just a minute later answered his unspoken question. "Marines, you're probably wondering what's going on. According to Beatrice, Admiral MacArthur wants us assembled in Briefing Room Five on A-Deck right away. We're about to exit slipspace shortly. So get dressed and form up."

Stone nodded to no one in particular and replied, "Aye, sir!" 

With that, he made his way over to the lockers and found the one he'd used to store his gear. He took out his skivvies and quickly donned them, then set about putting on his cammies and boots. When he was finished, he placed the iconic NCO cover firmly upon his dome and turned on his heel and approached his Marines. As he did, he passed the Gunnery Sergeant, and said in a low tone, so only the Gunny could hear, "Ya know, if Beatrice were a real woman, I'd flirt with her too." Thomas grinned at his friend and senior in rank, and finished making his way over to the quickly accumulating group of Marines. 

"Hurry up, people! We don't have all day!" the Lieutenant barked. 

As expected, Gunnery Sergeant Cruz jumped into the fray, encouraging the unit to move at a faster pace. The grin on Stone's face widened. "Alright, First Squad, git a move on! Git yer clothes on 'n fall inta a nice perdy column."

The Sergeant heard someone sigh, followed by the voice of Private First Class Furby. "Man, this shit blows. Can't even get out of the freezer without someone screamin' at us."

Stone shook his head. "Quit'cher bitchin', Furby, 'n get dressed!"

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace Wilkas' green eyes flickered open rudely tossing her from the retaliative comfort of the dream world and into reality. The dream had been a good one, a snow ball fight with her friends in the park in Moscow. The snow falling lightly down, the air had a freezing chill to it that stole heat eagerily. Shaking her head, groggy from the effects of cryo sleep, she tried to get up but fell back with an audible. "Oof".

This was probably her third or perhaps fourth time in cryo sleep and she decided there and then that she hated it with a passion. Coughing violently as she managed to clambered rather ungracefully out of the pod, spitting a mouthful of foul tasting mucous out from her mouth. She heard the shouts of officers and then the rough barks of the Sargents' and almost on auto pilot began to dress herself ignoring the looks that some of the scars got her. Despite their presence she was still attractive, more along the lines of beautiful.

Grace was not concerned by the looks, worry nestled deep in her stomach and she remained quiet, keeping up the presence of this was normal for her, that it was all under control. Grace had never seen actual combat, if they where to be in a real battle against the Covenant it was to be her first actual taste of true warfare.

She slid into her gear with calm precision, yet she was slower than the rest of the platoon a visible sign that Grace was lost in thought. Grace finished by sliding her shirt over her head quickly, her stomach churned with silent worry, gnawing at her from within. Wilkas was still a fresh face, new to the unit. A replacement, most of these men had probably seen combat or at least some of them had, Grace Wilkas had none of that. Part of her wished she would admit that she was scared, afraid of what might happen. She had a look of unease on her face, her eyes scanning the rest of the marines as if she was not certain as to what she should do next.

[Furby, J.]

The icy cold grasp of reality tugged at the edges of the dream that had been playing out before him. His eyes opened abruptly as the cryogenic stasis unit disengaged, a cool mist spilling out from it as the door lifted into the air. Private Jayson Furby had awakened. He shook his head with a tired groan. Then, as if a switch had suddenly been flipped against his wishes, he began to heave and cough as his body attempted to expel the foreign chemicals that had been pumped into him during cryo sleep. Green mucous-like liquid spewed out across the steel grey deck. I feel bad for the poor bastard that has to clean that up, he mused.

After roughly a minute of coughing, his body had successfully expelled the chemicals and he tuned into what was happening around him. He spotted other pods opening, and a rapidly accumulating group of Marines from his platoon scrambling into formation. He marched over to where they were and joined them, assuming a relaxed posture. The normal banter between members of the platoon erupted in no time, and he listened to it.

"Hey, Adkins, you're missing something," Private First Class Duplass said.

Private First Class Adkins glanced over at Duplass. "What's that?"

Adkins grinned. "Your dick."

"That's not what your girl said to me, Duplass retorted. "And it ain't 'bout the size. It's 'bout how you use it, brother."

Furby shook his head. They hadn't even been awake for five minutes and the pissing contests had begun. Personally, he didn't care about it. He didn't particularly care to try and determine who was the "alpha male" in the group. He understood his place in the totem poll, and the fact of the matter was, anybody higher in rank sat mockingly above him. AS far as the chain of command was concerned, anybody higher than Lance Corporal were the alpha males. Nobody else mattered, and nobody else had any power. Sure, Lance Corporals had the chance to earn the right to bark out orders at everyone, but that was generally rare. NCOs and above were the important people. Everyone else were bullet sponges, plain and simple.

Of course, few others agreed with his point of view. They actually had deceived themselves into thinking that officers cared about them - that their lives were valued. In actuality, this was far from the case. An officer would risk ten thousand lives if they believed they'd earn a medal for it. Most NCOs were a little better at watching out for their subordinates, but inevitably, they'd rarely throw themselves into the line of fire when you could throw a bunch of privates and PFCs online instead of themselves.

As Lieutenant Durant approached, the last members of the platoon had been thawed and fallen into formation. The platoon snapped to attention, and the Marines awaited to hear an explanation for being prematurely thawed. "Marines, you're probably wondering what's going on. According to Beatrice, Admiral MacArthur wants us assembled in Briefing Room Five on A-Deck right away. We're about to exit slipspace shortly. So get dressed and form up." Furby relaxed and fell out of line, immediately making a beeline for his locker. He started to dress in his utility uniform, and was halfway dressed when the Lieutenant ushered the platoon to make haste.

Gunnery Sergeant Cruz added his own encouragement, and Furby rolled his eyes. He's already trying to crawl up the El-Tee's asshole by lifing the shit out of us."

Sergeant Stone jumped in and Furby couldn't take it anymore. "Man, this shit blows. Can't even get out of the freezer without someone screamin' at us."

Stone shot back, telling him to shut up and finished getting dressed. Knowing that commencing an argument with the Sergeant would be futile, he bit his tongue and donned the rest of his attire. He then moved to where a line was forming behind the Lieutenant, and stood there. Jayson noticed one of the new FNGs, Private Wilkas - the RTO, if he recalled correctly - looking slightly confused. As if she wasn't quite sure what to do. He smiled somewhat and gestured for her to fall in line with the others. "Hey Wilkas, over here," he said, then noticed the look in her eyes. It looked like she was trying to hide herself from the others. Likely worried that combat may be coming her way in the near future. So, on a hunch, he said, "Wilks, don't worry. Combat isn't so bad. Just remember your training and watch the six of the person next to you... and don't piss yourself when rounds starting flying by your head." The last line was delivered with a grin.

[Durant, M.]

In no time at all, the Marines of Second Platoon had dressed and were standing before the Lieutenant. He smirked and turned on his heel, taking a step towards the exit. The doors parted with a mechanical snik and he marched out into the corridor beyond, the others following in tow. Michael made his way through the network of corridors, passing by Navy personnel - technicians mostly - until finally reaching the elevator that allowed the ship's crew quick access to the other levels of the Vengeance. He called the lift and stood by the call button, and looked at towards his subordinates. Most of them conversated amongst themselves on their walk. Most of it harmless banter.

He chuckled. The doors to the elevator opened, a ding resounding in his ears, and he stepped onto the lift. Fortunately it was large enough to fit all of his Marines, meaning he wouldn't have to standby while his men traveled up an elevator. He pressed the button for A-Deck and felt it begin to ascend in his gut. Moments later they arrived, and the doors again parted to admit them. The Lieutenant led them to Briefing Room Five and made his way inside, finding a seat at the very front of the auditorium-esque chamber. Set before him was a stage elevated at least a foot off the deck. Centered on the stage was a round holotank, and against the back wall were a pair of viewscreens aligned to either side of the tank. At the moment they displayed the rotating insignia of the United Nations Space Command Defense Force.

The room was vacant when he entered. He hadn't anticipated that, having expected there to be at least someone waiting for them inside. The rest of the platoon filed into the room and found seats for themselves. Out of Michael's peripheral, he spotted Gunny Cruz seating himself beside him. He quickly looked over at the veteran Marine and nodded. Conversations continued throughout the room. That was, of course, until the door on the far right side of the room suddenly opened. In stepped a rather imposing individual - Sergeant Major Leon Carson - whom stopped in front of the hatch and stepped to the left. "ATTENTION ON DECK!" bellowed the Battalion Sergeant Major.

Shuffling and the sounds of heels clacking together resonated through the room as everyone stood up and assumed the position of attention. Lieutenant Durant stood rigid, and watched out of his peripheral vision as several men entered the room and made their way onto the stage. Michael recognized most of them. The person he didn't know made his way to the center of the room, while the rested opted to stand off to the side upon the stage, Sergeant Major Carson included. "Seats. At ease," the man commanded, and Durant scrutinized him as he returned to his seat.

The individual standing before them wore a Navy uniform. It lacked the usual identifiers - rank, name tag, unit insignia, etc. - the only thing being displayed being an the All-Seeing Eye on his collar.

ONI.

They were looking at a Spook.

This can't be good, the Lieutenant thought. The man, whom he assumed was a fellow officer, possibly of higher rank than him, punched in some commands into the holotank, activating it. Instantly the lights dimmed and the tank came alive, the rotating image of a UNSC Halcyon-class Cruiser materializing out of thin air. Along the side of the hull, Michael could discern the word "Templar" written across it.

"Good evening, Marines," the Spook said, his eyes darting between the Jarheads before him. "Before we start, I'd like to make it clear that who I am is absolutely none of your concern. I am a member of ONI, Section I, and I will be conducting this mission briefing." The Lieutenant resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the officer. He, like most others, held no trust or favor towards those of the Office of Naval Intelligence's employ. Admittedly, this was his first time ever dealing with one, but he'd heard the stories about Spooks. They were the type that would stab their fellow comrades in the back if they felt it was lead to mission accomplishment. Spooks operated in the shadows, and made it a habit to make everything and anything they did a secret.

An organization without full transparency was trouble, in his opinion. The Spook cleared his throat, and Durant shoved his misgivings to the back of his mind. "What I'm about to inform you is classified. You will not speak of this outside of these walls. What you're looking at is the UNSC Templar. It's captained by Captain Enrique Hernandez, and was in the midst of its maiden voyage - a test flight to test out some experimental technology installed upon it - when it went missing. The Captain disobeyed the standing orders of his flight, and entered a randomized slipspace vector. Up until a few days ago, we believed it to have been lost with all hands. Three days ago we discovered this was far from the case."

The ONI man paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. The Lieutenant took mental notes of the situation. Already this was sounding suspicious, and he didn't like it. "We intercepted a distress call from the Templar , but unfortunately we couldn't understand it. It was garbled. After some time we pinpointed the location that the transmission was originally sent from, and the Vengeance was ordered to investigate. That's your mission."

Before he could continue, the voice of Beatrice blared through the ship's intercom. "All hands, we're exiting slipspace."

The holographic image of the Templar updated, and Durant noticed several pockmarks in the ship's hull. It appeared that it had been breached in several locations; however, there was no further damage to indicate that the ship was attacked. He cocked his brow at the image, and briefly glanced at Cruz. He hoped this raised some concern with his second-in-command.

"Second Platoon, you will load up onto Pelicans bound for the ship. Your mission is to board the vessel and investigate its disappearance. Scans show that the hangar doors are sealed, and can only be opened from within side the hangar. Remote linkage is not possible, so a squad will need to breach the ship and make their way to hangar bay to unlock the doors so that the Pelicans can land and discharge the remainder of the platoon," the Spook explained. "Your secondary objective is to apprehend Captain Hernandez for disobeying standing orders and the reckless endangerment of his ship and crew. I'd recommend that two squads breach the ship. One squad will make their way to the bridge while the other makes its way to the hangar. Be advised: we have absolutely no information on the status and allegiance of the crew. Worst case scenario is that they've defected to some Insurrectionist cell, and are now entirely hostile."

He paused for a moment, and then said, "Are there any questions? If so, ask them now."

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace heard someone call out her last name and she made her way over, when he continued on to mention combat she just nodded once before replying. "Yeah I'll do that" She was surprised that she had been easy to read, but experienced marines where probably adept at reading rookies like her. Grace smiled half heartedly and forced herself to say. "I'll be fine someone has got to show you boys how it is done" That line there just proved that she was nervous, Grace only ever joked when she was really uneasy, nervous or stressed. Usually it came out in the form of sarcasm. Part of her was looking eagerly forward to facing whatever came her way a greater part would rather she stayed in one piece. 

She followed the rest of the platoon into the elevator where they were packed in tightly, an awful feeling of being like sardines in a tin pressed against Grace's mind. She was not claustrophobic at all but being tightly packed made her feel more than a little bit cramped, she folded her slender arms across her chest as if cautious somewhat about the confined space. Her uneasy grew however it eventually settled when she made herself seated in one of the back chairs for the briefing. Grace was focusing on the task at hand, their was to be a mission to complete, her worries where for now being shunted aside. She stood at attention when it was required and seated herself once more focusing once again on the briefing. ONI, a spook was here that is definitely not a good sign. It seems whatever our mission is just took a turn for the worse. Grace listened vigilantly too what was being said, remembering what her drill instructor had taught her on Earth.

 Spooks might act like they know all but even if they are wrong still listen to them, any intel is better than no intel. The idea of not being able to speak about this outside of the room made sense to Grace. It is a tad unnecessary to say that, i don't think anyone here would tip the enemy off. Grace felt herself smile slightly, the ONI spook reminding her of one of the characters in an old war film her father had liked to watch. It helped to ease the tension somewhat in her gut, the spook had an air about him that seemed creepy to Grace. She hoped that she would never have to deal with one face to face. Grace felt her gaze drift over the other marines, most of them here where volunteers, not like her who until drafted had never really considered military service. As she was a failed technology student, she got stuck with the radio pack as Grace knew how to use the thing, however it was also heavier than the standard kit which was a considerable downside in her opinion. 

 The mission seemed simply enough though she was curious as to what the ship could have been testing. Grace did not want to ask what for fear of drawing the spook's attention onto her. The thought of being questioned by the spook, sent a shiver down her spine. I wonder if there will be any survivors? I won't ask that it is highly unlikely that there will be any as otherwise the ship would have been moving by itself or their would have been other communications. Grace decided to follow one of the officers since they where the ones that she needed to stay close to as she was their radio operator. This meant she was rather important in the team even if she was just another private to be barked at, however the sad truth was the pack was more important than her as it could keep functioning provided she did not get it damaged. Lugging the radio pack through the confines of a warship was not Grace's idea of fun. 

[Stone, T.]

With the platoon assembled, Lieutenant Durant herded them out the door into the corridor beyond. He led them towards the ship's primary elevator lift, located at the center of the deck. The Marines filed into the confines of the lift, and the doors slowly shut before them. Most people likely felt that they lacked the room to breathe, with forty-some odd people cramped into the decently-sized elevator lift. This was perhaps cause for some discomfort among the group; however, none of it bothered the Sergeant. He'd found himself in far more uncomfortable situations, such as being cramped inside the confines of a Pelican drop-ship with not only his own squad, but a handful of combat casualties.

As he fell into the memory, he recalled that the majority of the casualties did not last through the flight. UNSC forces had suffered heavy casualties during the preceding battle - the one they were evacuating from - and their drop-ship had been retasked in mid-flight as a CASEVAC bird. Needless to say, none of his squad had been happy about it. Halfway on their way back to the Vengeance as the Covenant's Navy swooped down on the colony like vultures, only to be sent back into the killing fields to pick up critically wounded personnel. Despite their misgivings, very few had actually complained about it, understanding that their brethren could not be left behind.

Gravity shifted as the lift slowed to a halt, tearing the Sergeant from his musings. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, as to him it was all simply water swept under a bridge, and he waited as the elevator's doors parted at the center to allow the platoon passage. The Lieutenant led the Marines to the briefing room, and they quickly made their way inside. Thomas gestured for his platoon to seat themselves behind the first row, standing by as his subordinates seated themselves, then took the seat on the end closest to the center aisle. Conversations were abound, but he wasn't concerned with any of them. It was the same pre-mission routine. Marines cracking jokes and blowing off steam before they were sent into the depths of Hell itself.

Suddenly the audible snik of the room's side hatch opening immediately demanded his attention, and he craned his head to see who was making their way into the room. Rounding the corner at breakneck speeds was the battalion's Sergeant Major, and Stone already knew what was about to come next. "ATTENTION ON DECK!" The Sergeant Major barked, and the shuffling of the entire platoon springing onto their feet resonated throughout the room. Stone jumped to his feet and snapped to rigid attention - his back straight, eyes front, hands to his sides balled into fists at the seams of his trouser-legs - and he patiently waited for the order to return to their seats. He spotted a flurry of movement out of his peripheral vision proceeded by a single man stepping into his central focus. The individual wore all the tell-tale signs of an agent of the Office of Naval Intelligence, and he halted behind the holotank.

"Seats. At ease," the ONI agent ordered. Stone took his seat and relaxed some, his brow arched in suspicion of the individual who'd just spoken. Generally, the battalion's S2 officer, Captain Weathers, or the company's commander would be conducting the mission briefs. For there to be a Spook heading the brief was something unusual, and he regarded the man with distrust. ONI was bad news. Trouble always followed in their wake. Most assured.

He tossed these thoughts to the side as the agent initiated the briefing and began the usual spiel of "this is all hush-hush." The Sergeant quietly scoffed and shook his head. This was all information that anyone with common sense could have immediately deduced. Especially considering everyone was painfully aware of the rules regarding OPSEC. Still, they had to sit through it, so he quietly listened to what the man had to say.

Which, to be honest, wasn't exactly much. The gist of the situation was that a UNSC ship hauling some experimental tech on it had gone missing, and then located again, and now they were sending a bunch of grunts over there to check out what happened. Maybe even thwart some nefarious plot by a traitorous captain and crew. However, that didn't quite explain why there'd been a distress call sent out. But, then again, perhaps maybe some of the crew were still loyal to the UNSC. However, none of that mattered. What mattered was getting his squad in and out safely, and the completion of their mission. And that would be the majority of his focus.

At the climax of the briefing, the agent opened the floor to questions. Stone groaned and stood up. "Yes, sir," he began, clearing his throat as he organized his thoughts. "How many personnel were assigned ta this ship? If the crew's hostile, I'd like ta know how many assholes we might be havin' ta put down."

A second thought suddenly occurred to him. "Also, there looks ta be hull breaches across that ship. Do ya know what the hell happened there? Could they have been boarded?"

[Killinger, J.]

Major Johnathon B'Sheau Killinger leaned with his back on the wall while talking to two other Marine Officers. Killinger had known a few things about the briefing and was talking to two other Captains who had received the briefing as well. None of them liked that intelligence was pulling absolutely nothing from their searches and thermal imaging suggested nothing but negative things. The engines, as far as thermal analysis went, had been offline for quite a while. It suggested a lot of things, one of them was internal sabotage - which could also explain why the ship was damaged and its hull pocketed with what appeared to be internal detonations.

"Sir, all due respect, but sending in one platoon is suicide." A Captain stated. He was the commanding officer of Mike Company - another Marine unit serving in the Battalion. The man was a dedicated Marine, and knew what he was talking. He had the right to be concerned, they were fellow Marines after all. John shared similar feelings.

"Oscar's Second Platoon can handle it. The Halcyon they are deploying to is running a skeleton crew. Lightly manned, the only real anomaly is the status of the ODST's. Gentlemen, I highly doubt that everyone on the ship betrayed the UNSC. There are hardened Marine MP's on that vessel that have done nothing more then fight the Covenant because their own home world is still burning." Killinger replied.

The Captain looked stressed and scratched at his short hair. It puzzled Killinger why the man was trying hard to give second platoon reinforcements. Too large of a force the element of stealth was lost. So far, no one even knew if the Templar had detected the Vengeance or if they did detect her arrival, weren't doing anything about it. A Marathon Cruiser was hard to miss, even at distances where you'd need a zoom to find a Frigate. Fortunately the Rear Admiral in command was approaching from the rear and with her engines cold - sensors were likely down as well.

"How many men are we talking about, and how are they getting aboard?" The other Captain asked, this one in command of November Company.

"Less than three hundred. The swabbies required to run the ship, the Marine MP's, a squad of ODST's and the techs needed to analyze the technology. A lot of empty room on the Templar, so it should be rather easy to avoid internal detection as well. So far the objective is sending a squad in EVA gear over to the Templar. They'll breach the ship through a hull breach and open the hanger doors manually where the rest of the platoon will deploy. From there we learn the truth." Killinger replied.

"Most of the Templar has no atmosphere, so how long are those boys going to be in EVA gear?"

"They've got fifteen minutes to get passed the sealed bulkheads, but we're sending reserve tanks with them if they run into unexpected problems. That, and there is no telling how many areas on the ship have no atmo, so it's vital they get that hanger secured quickly."

"Fifteen minutes. I know we've got suits that last longer, sir."

"True, but they are bulky and you can't maneuver well in them. The ones they are being sent in are self sealing EVA suits that'll at least keep them alive. Extra tanks of oxygen is better than having a full suit blowout in the middle of no atmo. If you'll excuse me gentlemen, I've got to go." John replied, and left the Captain's there to discuss themselves. Both of them knew about the operation and wanted to send a platoon, but Killinger and the Lieutenant Colonel had talked about it and gave Second Platoon the job.

It was a quick recon, a simple operation... well the first part was. Get in, open the hanger. John thought about it as he strode into the briefing room and quickly took his seat, a good few minutes before the rest of the Marines entered the room. He kept on thinking as the questions were asked, until a face he recognized as Sergeant Stone asked a question.

Killinger produced his tactical pad and opened the vessels roster, but a lot of the names were blackened out by ONI. He'd have to learn the true numbers from the spook, if the man even knew.

[Cruz, J.]

The trip up to the briefing room was short, but the anticipation of finding out why they were thawed earlier than scheduled made it seem longer. Possibilities raced through his mind, all of which had to deal with the Covenant. Insurrectionists popped into his mind a few times as well; however they weren’t as big a threat as the genocidal aliens. The Covenant were a fierce enemy that was unpredictable due to their belief that all humans needed to be exterminated. The Insurrectionists were for the most part predictable in battle making it easy to eliminate them.

A few naval personnel shot nervous glances at Cruz as he walked by. They all knew that the ships commanding officer gave him permission to carry his sidearm on him at all times; though that didn’t comfort them at all. Cruz never felt comfortable traveling in space, there was always the possibility of being boarded that kept him vigilant. He was certain that many had the same tugging uncertainty, but they might have put it in the back of their mind to try and convince themselves that they were safe.

Stepping inside the briefing room, Cruz located the seat that he normally took next to Durant and quickly took a seat in it only to have to stand at attention moments later. He gave a crisp and perfect salute that only years of practice could produce. He wasn’t happy at all to see an ONI agent step into the room and start the briefing. He had distrust for ONI; they were always present for operations that almost always ended badly. Plus they rarely joined the force of men and women that they send into the unknown with very little to no Intel and if they had Intel there was an 85 percent chance that it was bad.

During the briefing a thought popped into the Gunnery Sergeants mind causing him to lean slightly over to Durant and whisper so only the Lieutenant could hear, ”Why the fuck didn’t they thaw us out earlier and inform us of the situation?”

Sergeant Stone was asking a question about number of personnel and what happened. Both were something that Second Platoon needed to know. The second question raised a few alarms causing the Gunnery Sergeant to stand up and walk towards the hologram. Entering a few commands and using his hands on the image itself, Cruz created a small window only he could see and zoomed in on one of the hull breaches. The few pockmarked sections of the hull didn’t exactly add up which unsettled the man a great deal.

”What were the security precautions,” Cruz stated without taking his gaze off the breach, something seemed familiar about this situation to him.

[Furby, J.]

Jayson Furby followed the rest of the group up to the briefing room, occasionally trading remarks with some of the other Marines in the platoon, but for the most part remained quiet. Upon entering the room he seated himself two seats down from Sergeant Stone. Interestingly, the room was empty. He hadn't been with the unit for very long, but he'd imagined that there'd have been at least someone in the room. But, then again, the only briefings he'd ever had were from the Sergeant. Generally the Lieutenant and Gunnery Sergeant Cruz briefed the squad leaders and then Sergeant Stone briefed his squad.

This was different. It unsettled him slightly.

The sound of the side hatch opening caused everyone to instantly fall silent. Any conversation that had been carrying on had immediately ceased, almost as if on the instincts of the Marines alone. They knew what was coming. "ATTENTION ON DECK! Sergeant Major Carson called, the words butchered somewhat by his cockney accent. Jayson leapt to his feet and snapped to the position of attention. Several individuals made their way into the room and a man - who was quite obviously a Spook - ordered them to sit and relax. He plopped down into his seat with a groan and held his head up by his hand, his arm propped up on his thigh. If a Spook was giving the brief, then this had to be good. Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding creep into his psyche.

The Spook went through the motions. He told them that everything was classified and yada yada. Honestly, he didn't think anyone would have the time to go blabbing to others about the details of the mission.

Besides, as he discovered, the details were disturbingly scarce. Why the hell aren't ODSTs handling this mission? Furby thought to himself. Why're they sending grunts on this mission? He kept the questions to himself. He was a Private First Class, not a General. These were questions way above his pay grade. Barring that, it was highly likely nobody cared to hear his thoughts. So while he listened to the brief, he contemplated a list of theories as to why they had been passed the reigns to this Op. The best conclusion he came up with was that some officer in the battalion wanted to get some medal or promotion for sending their Marines in to do a job that was better suited for Helljumpers.

Jayson sighed and shook his head. The Spook opened up the room to questions, and the first to open his mouth was Sergeant Stone. He inquired about the number of personnel aboard the ship and asked about the hull breaches. Which, suspiciously, looked as if they were caused externally. In other words, the ship had been boarded. Though, it didn't seem like the Spook had been smart enough to consider that possibility. Next, Gunnery Sergeant Cruz stood up suddenly and made his way over to the stage. Furby's brow arched in curiosity, and on a small level, amusement. He glanced over at the other officers present in the room and chuckled. The Sergeant Major seemed unfazed by the action, but it looked as if the others were about to have a cow. Including the Spook.

Then he inquired about the ship's security precautions. A thought occurred to Furby, and he debated whether or not to ask. Fuck it, he thought, and stood up. "Sir? He started, looking the man dead in the eyes. "If Innies are the cause, or a mutinous crew, who's to say they won't activate the ship's point defense weapons and blow us to kingdom come before we get anywhere near the ship? What guarantees are there that they won't take offensive action upon detecting us on their sensors?"

[Durant, M.]

The Spook stood quietly, his hands crossed in front of him, as he listened to the questions of the Jarheads before him. To his genuine surprise, they were actually mildly intelligent questions. He'd always pegged Marines as a bunch of Neanderthals whose only knew how to kill, kill, kill. Perhaps he had been wrong in his assumptions and dismissed a minority of a group as the majority. He wasn't sure, but they were thoughts for another time. Right now he had to focus on answering the questions that were coming his way.

One of the first questions came from one of the Sergeants, with an annoyingly thick Southern-drawl. He resisted the urge to tell the man to go back to school and learn how to speak proper English and considered the questions he'd presented. "Considering the nature of the Templar's mission, it only had a skeleton crew of approximately one hundred fifty personnel. Bridge staff, maintenance and engineering, a handful of experienced civilian technicians, and security personnel." He contemplated the next question for a moment, and then decided upon his answer. "We have no intel on whether the hull breaches are external or internal, nor what could have caused them."

The hologram of the Templar was momentarily replaced with Beatrice's avatar. His brow arched and he considered reprimanding her, but remained quiet. There had to be a reason why she was interjecting into their briefing. With her back to him, facing the audience, she addressed the crowd. "I went ahead and commenced some in-depth scans of the ship. It appears that the breaches in her hull are external in nature. There are a quite a few possibilities as to what could have caused them. If I were to gander a guess, without serious analysis of the damage, I'd say there's a seventy-five percent chance that the Templar was boarded."

Beatrice's image disappeared, replaced again by the Templar. The ONI agent was about to ask if there were any further questions when suddenly one of the Marines - whom he assumed was the platoon's sergeant - stood up and made his way up the stage and to the holotank. His eyes fell upon Lieutenant Durant, whom seemed taken aback by the sudden move but said nothing in response, and anger began to well up inside of him. He shot the Gunnery Sergeant a mean glare, gearing up to reprimand him, when he noticed the look on the face of one of the officers that had arrived with him. The agent took a deep, calming breath, reserving to speak to the man in private later. Or let the Jarheads handle the issue amongst themselves. Either way, he didn't particularly care so long as something was done about it.

The Gunny asked a question regarding the security precautions put into place aboard the ship. This was an easy answer, and he took a couple steps toward the Gunnery Sergeant as he spoke. "There were a number of security precautions put into place to ensure their mission went smoothly. Namely among them, there were thirty-six highly trained Marine MPs assigned as security to the ship. There was also a team ODSTs, though their files are surprisingly classified. The only intel I have on them is that ONI Section III personally requested they be aboard. I wish I could give an exact number for you, but I was not permitted that kind of information."

He took one final step towards the Gunny, stopping mere inches from him, and leaned in to whisper in his ears. "Sit down now or we will have problems." The Gunny stared at him blankly for a moment, his face totally unreadable, before his lips curled into a smile. Cruz nodded and slowly made his way back to his seat. Irritation curled its way into his psyche, because there had been a message behind the smile. He did not have the man's respect, and the only reason why he had obeyed was so a scene was not created. His fingers balled into fists and he took another deep breath.

The final question came from one of the more junior Marines, and it distracted him from his irritation at the Gunny. He looked toward the private and considered his words for a moment. The ONI man responded, "Preliminary scans have detected neither active nor passive sensors are active. Aside from that from a visual confirmation, which you'd need to be extremely close for that, there'd be no way for the ship's crew to know you're coming. While yes, the risk is there, we've deemed it highly unlikely and a necessary risk that you're going to have to take."

Silence settled in the briefing room. The ONI man waited a few seconds before nodding his head and shutting off the holotank. "If that's all, then I would suggest everyone gear up and report to Hangar 3C immediately. Remember you'll be dealing with zero-g environments with little to no atmosphere to speak of. Everyone should don EVA PPE for this mission, and bring reserve tanks of oxygen." After a brief pause, he dismissed the group.

Lieutenant Durant stood up and looked over at the Gunny. He wasn't angry with his actions, having grown accustomed to his unorthodox methods of getting things done. He wasn't happy with his actions per se, but he wasn't planning on reprimanding him for it. If anyone would reprimand him, it would've been the CO or Major Killinger. Michael intended to leave that job to his superiors. In his mind, there were more important matters to attend to. He wasn't fond of the sparse information they'd been given on their mission. There were a plethora of questions and very few answers. Too many unknowns for his liking.

The Gunnery Sergeant's words played through his mind. "Why the fuck didn't they thaw us out earlier and inform us of the situation?" It was a fair question, and one he wanted an answer to. As his Marines started to exit the room, on their way to the barracks to don their armor, he ushered the Gunnery Sergeant to follow him and approached the group of officers on the other side of the room. He stopped in front of the Company Commander, who looked to be readying to leave the room, and cleared his throat to get his attention.

"Sir," he called, pausing a minute to ensure he was paying attention. "I have a question for you."

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Why weren't myself and the Gunnery Sergeant thawed earlier?"

Captain Flannigan offered him a look of confusion. "Thawed earlier?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir," Durant began. "It's SOP for the command staff of a platoon to be thawed before their platoon and briefed on the mission, so that the details of the mission can be passed on to their subordinates. Why weren't we thawed beforehand and given the dope on this mission?"

The Captain seemed to contemplate his question, and then simply shrugged. "I don't know, Mike," he answered. "This mission came on short notice and my orders came directly from the BC. His orders were clear: thaw Second Platoon and have them report to a mission briefing."

With that, the Captain turned on his heel and exited the room. Durant glanced over at the Major as he considered approaching him. However, that would have been a gross misstep in the chain of command on his part. So he decided not to pursue the issue further. He turned on his heel and started towards the exit, ushering the Gunny to march alongside him. "Don't thaw the platoon staff first? Thaw the platoon as the whole? That is totally counter to SOP, Gunny."

With that, he exited the briefing room and proceeded on his way down to the barracks. He'd get his gear on and then head down to the Hangar Deck. They had a mission to complete.

[Wilkas, G.]

Grace listened attentively to the questions and the answers, but the more she heard the more she disliked. Her discomfort grew, it was her first actual combat mission and the butterflies in her stomach only worsened the more she heard. The more information that came into light only served to increase her uneasiness. I never wrote a letter back to Dad or Mom for them to read if I didn't make it.  Before hand the thought of death had never really crossed her mind, not in basic and not when she was on her way to deployment as a key part of Oscar Company. Deep down she knew it had always been there she had always been too busy to notice it before. Yet now when she was faced with what soon would be trouble... Grace could not help but feel the mortal prickle of fear of death, crawl it's icy fingers up her spine.

With shaky hands she slipped a worn packet of spearmint soft mints out from her pocket and slid a single mint into her dry mouth, chewing it silently in an attempt to settle her stomach. I am so going to die... I... I know it. I need to write to my parents, talk to them. Grace tried to calm her nerves but the more she did, the worse her growing fear became. The nervous uncertainty was freaking her out, Grace desperately attempted to lock down the runaway emotions. When the time came to exit the room, Grace left rather quickly almost tripping over a chair yet recovered before she fully fell. She moved a little too rigidly for her, Grace was normally known for her fluid like movements and well natural grace. The more experience soldiers would be able to tell that for the young draftee, something was eating her from the inside. 

She chewed the mint till way after the flavour had gone, the motion was providing some comfort. Grace made her way to the barracks and began to slip into her gear, the familiar motions suddenly filled her with an empty sense of the dread. She was to be going potentially into battle soon. It could be her first and last battle, she stopped midway in getting ready and tore off some of the wrapper, trying to get another mint out. The a trio of mints scattered noisily across the cold deck, it was rare when Grace dropped things. She let out a sigh and bent down to recover the fallen objects before placing them in a pouch. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, silently in her head taking deep breaths to calm herself down, at the end of the day Grace had a job to do.

 It worked, more or less she suppressed her ill feelings, the platoon would need her ready and able. She was their radio woman after all. Grace once more returned to seemingly her usual self, sliding calmly into her gear with gentle precision. For those who had served in combat before or those who spent more time observing Grace than they really should they would have noticed that her movements where too stiff, too controlled for her. Grace was almost like a coiled spring, waiting to explode into action. She was by far the model soldier, or even the best shot. I'll do my best, these men and woman depend on me.