Knock, Knock...

[Stone, T.]

Sergeant Stone grit his teeth, seething with barely contained anger at the situation that had just moments ago transpired. He glowered at Furby over his shoulder, who'd returned to his position in formation at the Sergeant's stern behest. Corporal Davis, to his credit, maintained his composure and professionalism, simply standing by for further orders. Fortunately, he hadn't needed to wait very long. With Private Wilkas having recovered from her little episode, the Lieutenant ordered the unit forward.

Thomas was a bit apprehensive at the Lieutenant's insistence to be the point man for the element. If there were enemies nearby, the debacle moments ago would have surely alerted them to the presence of the Marines. And with Second Squad having moved ahead of the platoon, the opportunity for an ambush was especially ripe. It woulsd be easy for the enemy to cut the head of the snake off from the body. The head being Durant, of course.

Still, despite his fears, no such ambush occurred. First Squad followed the Lieutenant into a chow hall that appeared to have clearly been used as a defensive position. Unfortunately, the defensive position appeared to have been overtaken by the enemy, whomever they may have been. Bodies and spent brass hovered through the air, suspended by the lack of gravity. Stone ignored the scene and followed the Lieutenant over to where Second Squad had assembled.

Lieutenant Durant ordered Stone's squad into a covering position for Second's breach. Thomas nodded and first turned to Corporal Davis. He waved at him and then brought two fingers up to his eyes, then pointed at Second Squad. Then he extended his right hand, palm facing the deck, and brought it up to his head. He tapped his head twice and then pointed at Second Squad. Davis seemingly understood, moving his fire team into a cover position. Stone signaled Second and Third Fire Teams to watch the flanks to ensure no enemies could sneak up on them.

Thomas opted to guard the rear, watching a door parallel to the one Second was preparing to breach on the opposite side of the room. He kept his rifle at the low ready position, prepared to snap it on target if any targets presented themselves to him. He scanned the room with his eyes, but it seemed empty and void of life.

But looks could always be deceiving.

[The Commander]

Moments ago, something perculiar had occurred that had piqued his interest. One of his subordinates had detected a sudden signal that had not been there before. Unable to crack the surprisingly primitive encryption before it had disappeared, he was able to track its origin to one of the upper decks of the vessel. The first thought that crossed his mind was that perhaps someone from the ship's crew had managed to survive pacification. The implications behind such a theory were troubling.

If there was a survivor aboard that had eluded their detection, then their entire operation could be jeopardized. His lieutenant had assured him that the crew had been eliminated. If this rogue signal was evidence of a survivor, it either meant his lieutenant had not been honest with him or one of his troops had failed to be thorough during their sweeps of the ship. Neither option was acceptable as far as he was concerned.

So, with diminishing faith in the integrity and competencr of his subordinates, he took it upon himself to investigate the situation personally. It was the only option to ensure that the job was done properly. A necessary evil.

Rounding a corner, he slinked along the wall and raised his weapon in front of him. He ignored the dead that floated by, merely shoving the corpses away if they came to close to him. He took care to stay amidst the shadows. Coupling the intense darkness of the corridor with his own camouflage concealed him entirely from the naked eye.

In addition, the lack of atmosphere meant that the sound of his heavy footsteps fell on deaf ears. This made him the perfect silent predator, lurking in the shadows awaiting the moment when he would be presented with an opportunity to strike. And when he did, his adversary would have no chance at retaliation. They would not see their death coming.

That is why he was the commander of such an elite force. The warrior blood ran through his veins, and he had attained his position the way every true warrior should; by spilling the blood of his enemies. In his time with the military, he had spilt enough blood to turn an entire ocean bright crimson. That is why he was a Special Operations Commander. That is why his subordinates executed his commands without question.

The Commander approached a door at the far end of the passage. Painted on the floor was some type of message, with a visual depiction of what he knew to be food. How primitive, he thought with an amused huff.

When he neared the door, it opened, having apparently sensed his presence. The Commander knelt by the door, briefly waiting before passing through its threshold. Patience was key to remaining undetected. If there were survivors, he needn't give himself away through haste.

After having waited a sufficient amount of time without anything having happened, he slowly made his way through the door. The Commander had to duck in order to pass, the door perhaps a whole foot shorter than him. As soon as he had made it through the door, his predator eyes fell upon a perculiar sight to see.

Humans. Ones that were very much alive and heavily armed. At least a couple lances in number. There was no way that that many of them could have evaded his forces. No. These humans had to have come from elsewhere.

But where? How? Had there been a survivor aboard that had managed to send out a message? Or perhaps someone had activated some type of beacon in the midst of the boarding actions? Either possibility was valid.

But, it didn't matter. His focus needed to be on the fact that there were humans aboard right now, not on how they could've made their way here. A part of him wanted to engage them now; but he knew better. He'd learned long ago not to underestimate the humans like the vast majority of his brethren so foolishly did. Heretics or not, they were not incapable of logic or strategy.

As it were he was a single warrior. While capable and highly skilled, he was not foolish enough to brazenly engage the enemy when obviously outnumbered.

Besides, there were far too many unknowns at the moment. Proper surveillance was necessary to gather as much intelligence on these humans as possible. Attacking now could end up being a fatal mistake, especially if there were more humans aboard than just what he was seeing at the moment. The Commander clutched his comlink and activated it, quietly speaking into it.

"Brothers, rally and prepare for battle," he began, broadcasting to all those whom were under his command. "Humans from elsewhere have boarded. Survey them closely, but do not engage or risk detection."

He paused and heaved a heavy breath, then clenched his hinged jaws at his final words before stowing the comlink.

"We will strike when their guard is lowered."

[Killinger, J.]

The veteran marine disappeared into the room Durant had left, toggled his flashlight to view the carnage and held his breath for a moment to fight back the anger that swelled into his being like a torrent of water out of a collapsing dam. He collected himself and sighed, floated towards one of the bodies and begun to search for a dog tag. He found one, took it and stowed it in one of his magazine pouches. He repeated the process with the rest of the casualties before disengaging his light and exiting the room to see Durant ordering his troops around.

The Major was slightly, though not angrily so, annoyed that radio silence had been broken but understood the means for why it was broken in the first place. He himself, in his EVA training, had panicked and almost suffocated during the drill. It was his good friend Hicks that managed to calm him down, who was long since reassigned to another unit. While Hicks went down the enlisted ranks, John himself spent four years in schooling to acquire an officers commission in the Luna Naval Academy.

Killinger followed the Marines into a mess hall, which had been obviously used as a defensive position, and scanned the area calmly and observed the bodies floating nearly motionless in the vacuum. Again, he repeated the process with acquiring the deceased corpses and starting to think of plausible instances. There were far to many bodies for his liking. It was bluntly clear to him that the ship was, in fact, boarded and the crew on board was engaged; many of which gave their lives to protect the secrets within.

The Major floated towards the Lieutenant, a thought in his mind; The Cole Protocol.

If the Cole Protocol had been activated, the ship detected Covenant presence. If the navigational data was still operational, then it was either rebellious insurrectionists or perhaps a traitor in the midst of the crew - but again, far too many bodies for that. He took position next to Durant, tapped the junior officers shoulder and signed 'Cole Protocol - Check if NAV Data is here.' and nodded, looking away at the bodies.

[Wilkas, G.]

 Wilkas chose not to reply to the LT as she switch to her auxiliary tank, she found herself dreading the talk more than whatever lurked within the depths of this ship. The horrors conjured up by her mind now no longer unsettled her, the thought of the talk if they made it out alive... That was something to be worried about. She stood up and recovered her rifle from Furby. She then had to quickly scurry to keep up with the Lt as he and first squad disappeared through a doorway. The sight of so much death made Wilkas stomach clench and her body wanted to wretch, yet she appeared to keep her cool, sticking close to Durant even with a bit of a more noticeable limp. She took position near an overturned table, kneeling down and her rifle resting on the edge so that she could cover the door but with some cover.

 Grace felt her skin burn with raw shame, she'd panicked and let down the entire platoon. Not only had Durant seen but the Major as well. Wilkas did not want to make an impression that she was a coward or a soldier prone to panicking. She forced herself to stop worrying about that, what was done was done. Nothing she could do to change the past. Grace focused her mind resolutely on the task at hand, she would try to complete the rest of the mission as best as she possibly could. Maybe through such hard work and determination she would impress the LT and the Major, perhaps... Perhaps even recovering some of her standing with them, if she ever had any other than the untested rookie assigned to what appeared to be a platoon of mostly combat veterans. 

 She swallowed her throat dry, Grace still wished that the environment wasn't a zero gee one with no atmosphere. She missed the feel of wind against her skin and the sounds of the environment in her ears. The feeling of isolation crept around her mind yet she ignored it's crude, crippling whispers. Now was not a time to feel unsettled or panic again. With her rifle propped up on the table edge and her right hand on the trigger, she reached down with her left hand to try and soothe her left ankle that throbbed painfully, shooting daggers of burning pain up. Wilkas knew that the injury must have been at the very least sprained, it might have been broken but she doubted that she would have been able to keep moving if it was the latter.

She moved her hand away and gripped her rifle with it again, hopefully before either the Doc, Major, Lt, or anyone else in the platoon noticed. The very last thing Grace wanted now was for the platoon to stop because of her bad ankle. She had injured herself at the start of the mission with her poor landing, Grace made herself cope with the pain then she could make it through the rest of the mission easily. There would be no need to stop the platoon or delay the mission again because of her error. The rookie RTO continued to take calming breaths, almost as if to combat any chance of another underhand panic attack. Her eyes focused on the doorway waiting for anything to come through the door before Second Squad entered. If something did come through, that was not UNSC, she would fire. Or she hoped that she would, her platoon needed her to, Grace would not let them down again by deciding that she couldn't. Sure she would never win a medal for marksmanship but she could shoot well enough. Grace hoped that would count for something. 

[Durant, M.]

((OOC: Ample time was given. We're moving forward. I apologize for the NPCing of your character, Mason, but the show must go on.))

With Second Squad assembled in preparation for the breach and First Squad in a cover position, Sergeant Mason pressed the keypad to open the door. Raising his rifle to chest height, he moved forward and button-hooked around the corner through the door. His Marines were right behind him, moving into their points of dominance. The Sergeant scanned his fire sector before relaxing slightly. The area ahead was clear, and since none of his Marines called contact, he assumed that the area behind him was clear as well. Mason scrutinized the area around him.

He found himself in yet another corridor. It continued for twenty meters before connecting to an adjoining corridor that he assumed was part of yet another network of passageways. Glancing behind him, over his should, he was met with a carbon copy of the area that was in front of him. A sign on the floor indicated that the area behind him connected to a passage that would lead them to a flight of stairs. Nodding at no one in particular, he gestured for his Marines to fall in on him and he made his way in that direction. Isaiah approached the connecting hallway and leaned around the corner, scanning with his weapon. As before, it was clear, and there was surprisingly little evidence that combat had taken place aside from a rather conspicuous scorch mark on the floor.

Mason rounded the corner and cautiously approached the bulkhead door at the end of the hall. Directly behind him was Corporal Rio, moving forward a little behind him along the port wall. The Sergeant pointed at the door and then patted himself on the head before pointing at himself. Rio nodded in understanding and dropped to a crouch, keeping his weapon trained on the bulkhead. Mason etched his way closer to it, noticing the single green light that indicated the following room contained atmosphere. Not for long, he thought with a smirk. Isaiah stepped up to the panel on the sidewall and pressed the button in.

The quarter-inch thick titanium door ascended into the ceiling, and a sudden gust of atmospheric pressure berated the Marines. After a quick scan, Mason moved into the room. At its center was a staircase which could be taken up to the level above them or down to the level below. At the opposite side of the room, and to the left and right were identical bulkhead doors - meaning the room acted as some type of junction. The Sergeant marched over to the edge of the landing and looked down at the landing below. Several bodies floated aimlessly, and there were very obvious signs of previous combat.

Lieutenant Durant entered the ladderwell junction and scrutinized it for a moment. The moment Sergeant Stone's men had assembled in the room, he ordered Corporal Davis to close the bulkhead behind them. Acknowledging the silent order, he complied, and the bulkhead descended and sealed. Suddenly, the vents activated and atmosphere returned to the room. So, life support isn't totally deactivated, Durant surmised. He smiled softly and turned to his men.

"Marines," he called through the external speakers of his mask, "we're going to split up. Sergeant Mason, your squad will head down below and find a hangar that's suitable for an LZ. Third Squad's probably itching to come aboard. You'll have to find a way to open the hangar doors." Michael looked to Cruz. "Gunny, go with them."

Durant's eyes fell on the Major, whom had mentioned checking the NAV data on the bridge. He'd thought about that, and had intended to do so, and now he had the chance to. "First Squad, you'll be accompanying myself and the Major on our way to the bridge. We're going to pilfer through the ship's logs and NAV data. It may shed some light on what happened here." He paused for a moment, contemplating something. "I'm lifting radio silence. Keep in contact. May Oden be with you."

With that, the two groups parted ways. Sergeant Mason's men, accompanied by Gunnery Sergeant Cruz, went down to C-Deck. First Squad, Lieutenant Durant, and Major Killinger climbed the steps up to A-Deck.

[Davis, E.]

Davis was on edge. Something in the back of his head screamed at him that they were in a bad spot, but his eyes couldn't find a single thing wrong. He kept checking their six, knowing that as the rear element they were by themselves. Nothing looked out of place their either, but that itch in his mind wouldn't go away.

The sign of atmo made him smile a little. He was tired of breathing from a can, and was hoping that they could get into something a bit easier than the EVA suits. Having seen the new RTO panic was a shame, but not unexpected. He felt the same. It was just sheer experience that had kept him from being in the same situation.

Closing the door, the his and preassure of life support was a welcome sound. After being in vacuum, any sound was welcome. He did a quick recount of his men, making sure that wasn't the cause of his itch. It wasn't, and he still was at a loss as to why his sixth sense was screaming at him.

"Seargent Stone," he said quietly, sliding up next to his squad leader. "Somethings not right. I can't find what it is, but my Dad always told me to trust my gut, and it's never led me wrong. I'm not saying we shouldn't keep moving, but there is danger here. Big danger. And I don't just mean a loss of atmo. Requesting permission for my team to take point, Seargent."