Halo: The Interlopers

“There are two kinds of black ops, Thompson. There are what I like to call ‘blacklights’, which are black only because of the sensitive nature, and mostly justified; these can be declassified after a few decades. Then there are ‘pitch blacks’, which will never see the light of day because they are so morally reprehensible and difficult to justify. This operation falls within the latter category.”

The ONI spook who was giving him a detailed briefing, standing alongside the pony who’d first given him the assignment, pulled a tarp from a table covered with equipment.

“This op is as black as a singularity.”

The set of armor in front of him was visually similar to normal ODST armor, but with a few key differences. For one, it was painted olive drab instead of black. The rucksack was a normal UNSC Army pack, in black to match the black body glove underneath the armor plates. There was a flashlight mounted on the side of the helmet, which was more common on older models that lacked the integrated VISR system; ODSTs fighting in the Inner Colonies, and probably Reach, had worn this same set of armor. However, the helmet itself seemed to have a VISR system, meaning the flashlight was a mere supplement.

His weapons were familiar. An M392 DMR, his favorite, and an M319 grenade launcher, also a favorite of his. But there was also an M6G, which seemed to be loaded and issued with M225 Semi-Armor-Piercing High-Explosive rounds of both normal and self-silencing varieties. It had a black finish instead of the electroless nickel plating it normally had.
The ONI spook noticed he was eyeing the pistol. “The rounds are self-silencing, but have a lower velocity. Still deadly, but not as deadly as the louder ones.”

“Nice. I like the black finish. Less flashy than the normal M6G.”

“Yeah. It’s just as resistant to corrosion, but the process used to coat it is more expensive and time-consuming than adding the usual nickel plating, so it isn’t used as much. You’ve got a couple suppressors for your DMR too, so you’ll have plenty of flexibility in how you engage enemies. The ‘nade launcher has some special ammo in addition to the normal. It’s quieter, but it doesn’t have any lethal payload. Instead, it has a parachute and camera that scan the area and feed directly to your visor. You can recon an area with it, and it’ll stay airborne for a minute on average.”

“This all seems a bit bulky and awkward for me to parachute in with. Any of it being dropped on a separate chute?”

The spook frowned. “No. There’s been a change of plans and we have to insert you via an ‘emergency landing’ in a civilian cargo plane. Hiding in plane sight, pardon the bad pun.”

Mark grinned.

When that spook said that he’d be inserted via a cargo plane malfunction, he wasn’t kidding. It would have been more accurate to call it a controlled crash, as the aircraft skidded to a halt on a dirt landing strip. The landing gear buckled during the touchdown, leaving the belly to grind against the chocolate-colored ground. When it stopped, Mark twisted a latch on the inside to open a hatch and bailed out, sprinting off into the dense forest.

The forest was littered with leaves, fresh green and aged brown alike. The trees themselves weren’t shedding their foliage, indicating the forest was evergreen.

After traveling a kilometer, the SPARTAN stopped to rest for a moment and check his location. His VISR indicated he was around a dozen kilometers from the point he was to meet the Griffon agent.

***

“This is as far as I go ma’am. The temple is yours,” Steel Saber deadpanned. He motioned for Twilight Sparkle to enter, and so she did.

Part of why she was doing this was Mark, just to see him and tell him how she felt. But another part was to find this “Argus”, who’d displayed frightening omniscience through his awareness of her letters. She needed to know who this was; her innate curiosity demanded it.

The halls were decrepit and brown, moss growing on the walls and hanging on the ceiling. The architecture was completely unfamiliar to her, and the age of the structure seemed to exceed written history. The walls seemed to be covered with faded inscriptions, which appeared to be magical glyphs, but in arranged in a syntax unknown to her.

Twilight’s subconscious nagged at her, telling her she was forgetting something. She knew it was right, but she couldn’t remember what it was, nor could she spare the time and focus to deduce what it was. So she pressed onwards, faint echoes haunting her ears.

***

“Where is she!?” Mark demanded in Unikrainian. He was interrogating a Unikrainian officer, who was strapped to a table. He needed the location of a VIP who would be traveling through the area.

“Fuck your mother!”

This wasn’t an ordinary VIP. This was the Premier’s wife. An alicorn; the mother of Princess Cadence, and the sister of Celestia and Luna. She defected early in the previous century, and became head of the Socialist Republic of Unikraine’s propaganda ministry. Her name was Pax.

“Fuck this shit, let me off this glue-sniffer right now!” ‘Widow’ yelled in English. She pressed a P226 against the unicorn’s cheek and pressed her talons against his throat. She was the second pissed-off griffon Mark had seen up close.

“Go ahead, you don’t have the horseapples!” The officer taunted in his own language.

“Widow, you simmer the fuck down, your time’ll come. I’m getting the car battery,” Mark bent over and reached into a cabinet inside the shed they were in, and pulled out an overcharged car battery and a pair of jumper cables. He carried them over and set them down next to the restricted stallion, hooking the jumper cables up.

“You ever wanted to try fried pony testicles, Widow?” Mark joked.

“Nah. Always got weirded out by those kinds of food; brain, testicles, all the fucked up cuts of meat out there.”

“I haven’t had meat in ages, but I ain’t eating his nuts.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” The Krany officer demanded.

Mark turned to him and picked up the unattached ends of the jumper cables, one in each hand. He clicked them for emphasis. “Widow, pull off his uniform trousers.”

So she did. Mark attached the cables to the unicorn’s nether regions and let the electricity surge through his body for twelve seconds. He unclipped the cables, only then noting the scent of charred flesh and burnt fur, as well as the sound of panting and sobbing.

“This can have a happy ending for you. You tell us what we need to know, and we set you free. You can tell them about how barbaric we were and how steadfastly loyal you were if you want, that’ll be a good propaganda victory for your guys. You get to be a big hero, and all you have to do is tell us where she is.”

The officer kept crying, but he nodded.

“Hit him with some morphine, just enough to make the pain bearable.”

Widow inserted a syringe into the stallion’s chest and pushed in the plunger, the opiate entering his system and slowing his heartbeat.

“In a convoy of civilians, hiding in plain sight,” The officer muttered. He outlined the time and location they’d be most vulnerable to a strike.

“Thanks.” Mark shot the prisoner in the head, killing him instantly. “You’re free to go.”

***

“What is he doing,?” Twilight wondered.

The elderly unicorn smiled at his potential disciple, though she was entirely preoccupied with the events on-screen, or lack thereof. She still hadn’t deduced his identity, nor had she detected the disguise spell Star-Swirl had used.

On a nearby screen, hidden cameras, or a spell to the less aware, was transmitting a live feed of the Colonel. A feed Star-Swirl knew would break her. She’d already doubted her mentor, the so-called ‘Goddess-Princess of the Sun’, in favor of a barbarian she’d fallen for. Now she would question the one she'd fallen for.

***

The explosives were in place. The detonator was in Mark’s hand. The convoy was on its way. One of the vehicles had his target in it. The rest were decoys. He had no way of figuring out which one she was on. The only logical solution was to destroy all of them.

So he waited, all alone to kill a VIP. An eternity of silence, with neither thought nor movement. The hum of vehicles caught his ears, and his grip tightened. The first vehicle came into sight, followed by more.

One by one, they entered the kill zone. Then, after several seconds, they were all inside the kill zone. Mark squeezed the detonator, and the two dozen IEDs went off as one. Shrapnel flew through the air, burrowing through metal and flesh alike with equal efficiency, spending mere seconds in the air. In that first moment, everything died.

Mark radioed back to the camp. “Widow, this is Raptor. Target neutralized, going in to confirm.”

“Copy. Confirm it and we might go home a bit sooner. Out.”

So he moved in, activating his VISR to help search for the target. But no matter where he looked, he couldn’t find her body. He searched for another several minutes before locating what was left of Pax. A head and neck, hardly damaged; the rest of the body was mangled horribly, with charred meat all over and chunks missing.

The SPARTAN took a few DNA samples and snapped a few pictures with his VISR. He’d need evidence to prove his kill, and now he had it.

With his objective completed, Mark looked around at his work as if for the first time. He couldn’t manage to ignore the scent of burnt flesh, which he attributed to not having smelled this much of it in so long. Then he saw the bodies. He counted one hundred fourteen; twenty stallions, thirty-one mares, and sixty-three foals.

This brought him back to his early days fighting the Insurrectionists. But with one key difference. He was the terrorist here, the monster slaying innocents.

Mark looked into the flames of the wrecked bus in front of him, still trying to process had just happened. Foals were in there, as were mares and stallions. Ponies who’d done nothing to harm anypony, killed to make a point, for a political purpose.

He reached into a small pouch on his torso plate and removed a picture of Twilight Sparkle from it. He’d gotten a print of the photo before he left, telling nobody and nopony about it. She was smiling in it, completely happy from what he knew of the context it was taken in. It was before humanity or even the Covenant Remnants had come to Equis. A somewhat simpler time, when “peace” prevailed, and the end of their Cold War had been coming fast, an end long overdue.

It’s on me. All of it.

Mark tossed the photo into the blazes and walked away, the bodies of the innocent fueling the fire that licked at it. The picture landed at the edge of the fire, which slowly burnt at the edges, and worked its way to consume Twilight’s face. The image smiled mockingly as it charred, a blackness devouring every feature.

***

“No. No way that’s him.” Twilight refused to believe it was Mark who’d just committed that atrocity, and shook her head madly, her eyes squeezed shut.

The Princess can't be right, can she?

“Widow, this is Raptor. Objective complete, RTB.”It was unmistakably Mark’s voice. Even through his helmet and the compressed audio they were receiving, the lament in his voice was there.

The warrior began to jog towards the PLF encampment, and he arrived twenty minutes later.

***

Mark was greeted by Widow, who looked oddly striking in the morning light, at least from the neck up. She wore fatigues patterned in the 21st century British Multi-Terrain Pattern. Her main weapon was a standard-sized M4A1 with a Trijicolt ACOG and an M26 MASS slung underneath. She also had a coyote brown tactical vest to provide protection to her torso.

“You got the proof?” She asked, going straight to business.

Mark tossed her a small bag with the DNA samples and a jump drive containing copies of the pictures. She caught the bag in one talon without flinching.

“Nice work, Thompson.”

Mark quickly drew his pistol, which was loaded with silenced ammunition, and pressed it against the back of her neck. Nopony in the camp noticed. “Don’t use my name again, not in the field.”

Widow didn’t flinch. In fact, she grinned a bit. “I only know your last name. My first is Gilda. I expected the hero of Manehattan to be a bit more gracious.”

Mark grunted and withdrew his pistol. “I’m no hero. Never was, never will be. I’m just a soldier sent to do some wetwork.”