Categories > Games > Halo > Fate Twister Redux

Act I Chapter II: Welcome To Reality

by sgtlegendkiller 0 reviews

Posted 1/30/2016

Category: Halo - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Sci-fi - Published: 2016-07-31 - Updated: 2020-01-02 - 6428 words

Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act 1

Chapter II
“Welcome To Reality”

After the collision, it was unknown to Don as to how long he had been unconscious. Even as his numb mind wandered through a nearly aimless stream of dreams he could feel the lingering pain and discomfort from the crash. Following what felt like forever, his ears started to ring as if they were returning to responsiveness. Soon he could hear faint noises building over the gradually decreasing ring; he soon felt his tingling nerves warming up as he was pulled from his sleep. He could feel pretty much everything as normal now that he was half awake. His eyes flew open and he was quickly blinded by a wall of light. Don instinctively tried to rub his eyes, only to have his arm only move just a little bit; he was bound to a table. Even worse, as he gave a low grunt from his sore attempt at moving, he felt his mouth split in a very alien way. He grew rigid, alarmed as he could feel whatever had happened to his jaws; it was as if his mouth had become four individual quarters, dividing his rows of teeth in half vertically on top of separating his top row of teeth from the rest of his skull under his nose to form some sort of set of mandibles

"Sir! He is coming too." A voice off to his right spoke up suddenly.

"I know. I have been watching him." Another voice spoke next to his left side.

Don, starting to panic, swore softly. This only freaked him out way more as his split jaws seemed to flap and move spastically as he attempted to say whatever he was trying to say. As he tried to speak, his voice came out unintelligible and far deeper than he was expecting. Something was very wrong with him and he needed to figure it out. Don jerked against the restraints around him to no avail

"Jesus... I still can’t believe how big he is." The voice to the right spoke with a nervous chuckle. "Is it too cliché to say I am kind of scared?"

"That is enough, Wates" The voice to the left seemed to snap at the other. "Donald..." The left voice spoke a bit forcefully towards Don.

Hearing his name, Don did his best to turn his head as much as he could to look at the blurred figure. Due to the restraints, this was hardly any movement at all. The man barely gave Don a moment to try to form even a nervous reply before moving a light closer to his hazy eyes. Don grimaced and squinted for a brief moment before his eyes adjusted. He shivered slightly as his sense of hearing seemed to focus to accompany his vision. He tried to look at the people past the lamp.

"Interesting..." the left man noted with a gruff exhale.” They seem quite responsive to direct light”

“Like us…? Sir?” The one on the right asked softly.

“Yes, Wates.” The other said sounding almost annoyed. .

Now that he could see decently, Don looked around as much as he could. From what he could make out was that they were in a small and somewhat bland looking medical lab of some sorts. All of the surfaces clad in a dark grey metal finish. On either side were two men, which the two voices obviously belonged to. Other than the fact that they seemed quite small in relation to Don, Mr. Right didn’t really have any particular look as he was in a medical scrub with a set of face and head coverings.

Mr. Left was greatly more of an interesting individual. Dressed fully in a black leather clad uniform, the man had an obvious sense of authority as if he was someone of importance. Everything about him screamed order and precision. The well cared for and carefully cut black hair on his head was combed back evenly, with just the right amount of bristle spacing and gel to keep the hair flat and smooth. Don did happen to notice that on the man's leather jacket there were two patches on either shoulder. One, that he couldn’t seem to make out, and the other that simply had the elegance of multiple letters that spelt ‘Weaver.’

"Ahh... it is good to see your awake, Donald" Weaver spoke with a tight smile.

Don, still quite terrified, stammered slightly at the situation. This man was trying to speak to him while Don was going through a very dramatic situational crisis. Regardless of what this ‘Weaver’ man wanted, Don wasn’t sure that he could form words with his seemingly broken mouth, and so he choked slightly and said nothing. He tried to instead flex his seemingly alien mouth to figure out what the hell was going on; there was a slight similarity to the muscle groups and how they flexed. It wasn’t much help, but he might be able to force his mouth to function.

"So let me get this straight..." Weaver, continuing on without a response, turned slightly to take a file from a desk nearby. "Donald H. Caster. Born April 15th, 1990. Six foot two, brown eyes, and brown hair." He hummed as if intrigued.

Don stopped moving his strange mouth parts as the man began to rattle information about him. He looked over to follow the man as far as he could to keep track of him. He noticed more patches on the man’s uniform and found that one of the logos looked familiar to Don, though he could not quite place it.

"You live in Winnemucca Nevada and own a..." He paused as he flopped to another page. "You own a... 2013 Shelby GT500.” Weaver paused as he glanced over what was in his hands. “I would also assume that Morgan Chase is your significant other and that you were a Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps... with a… Michael Brook... am I missing anything, Donald?" He asked as he looked back towards Don.

Don stammered again for but a moment before giving a confused attempt. “No..." Somehow his flexing and deliberate mouth movement worked.

"I wouldn't think so." He said almost smugly before he paused to straightened himself. "Now... what I am trying to figure out is why you do not look like the man in his picture." He grew a slight snarl on his lips as he pointed down towards the paper.

"Huh??" Don choked out slightly. He knew something about him was very different then he should be, but his response was of pure disbelief.

"Listen, Donald. My peers and I have theories of 'Trans-universal' placement throughout the planes of reality and such. Some sort of dissociation between dimensions if you will… Now thankfully these theories might explain what happened to you and your friend but..." Mr. Weaver shook his head as if he was challenged. "Those same theories do not involve aliens."

Don stammered yet again slightly; what this man was saying was vastly overwhelming to him, especially as he was. What the fuck was going on?? "I... don't... understand..." His voice seemed even deeper as he struggled with his words. He now definitely knew he was quite far from being ‘human.’

Mr. Weaver gave a slight hum noise as he turned towards the table once again. This time he brought a mirror with him that he quickly held up before Don. What he saw looking back at him was far from human. The first thing that he noticed directly was that his eyes had become bright green in color and that his pupils had formed into vertical slits. His nose had become flat and broad, leaving a blunt shaped contour midface. The last notable thing was that his mouth was no longer the basic two lips, but rather two pairs of mandibles lined with pointed teeth that left his maw widely open. This was not the face of who he had once been; this was the face of a Sangheili, known better as an Elite from the Halo games. What.

"Who are you really, Donald?" Mr. Weaver challenged past the mirror. "You are not the man on this license."

Don sat staring into the mirror gaping silence, hardly able to speak for several moments. This couldn’t be real; stuff like this doesn’t happen. How? Why? "You... who are you and what have you done to me?!" He managed to spit out.

"We have done nothing to you..." Mr. Weaver said as he took the mirror away and crossed his arms. "What have you done to yourself?" He asked firmly. "How did you two get here?"

Don looked down at himself more, craning his now somewhat longer neck to look at his bare, now dark tan colored chest. "I..."

Mr. Weaver grunted, displeased. "Then how about this? What were you doing before you crashed?" He asked firmly

"We were..." Don paused as he slightly flexed the muscles of his new mandibles; while they were making speaking difficult, he was managing somehow. "We were driving."

"At what time of day was it? Where was your destination and how fast were you heading there?"

Don blinked with a slightly stutter "It was..." Don paused as he tried to replace the details with a bit of nervous skepticism. There was something pressing about the way this man was asking these questions. "It was late evening. We...were heading home and... Uh"

"How fast?" Mr. Weaver was on point as he cut Don off as if to make sure he didn't stray from the question.

Don looked down in frustrated thought. "I don't know."

"I need to know how fast." Mr. Weaver stated tautly.

Don began growing agitated as a low gurgle grew from deep in his throat. It didn’t happen intentionally, but it came from his growing sense of anxiety, fear, and frustration. He was growling. "I have no idea on the hows or whys of how we got here." He spoke as stern and serious as he had, a tad surprised at how loud his voice was actually projecting. It wasn't like him to really yell, but it had been loud enough to make Mr. Weaver's assistant to jump slightly.

Mr. Weaver's arms tightened in front of him as he frowned. "Wates?"

"Yes sir?" The assistant asked nervously.

"Leave the room please."


"You heard me. Leave."

"Yes sir." The masked assistant quickly complied as he scurried out of the room.

As the timid of the two left the room, Mr. Weaver became quite rigid as he began to approach Don's side once again. "These almost... supernatural rifts have been happening for several hundreds of years and yet we absolutely know nothing about them..." He paused for a moment to watch Don's reaction to this. "These things will ripple throughout multiple star systems with such force that causes every satellite, radio…, hell even stuff between Chatter to Microwaves will spaz out for over a minute before stopping…” He explained before pausing to readjust his jacket slightly. “Now we don’t know what it is. All we get is the weird signal and then we will find an old helicopter or something from hundreds, or even thousands, of years in the past." Mr. Weaver paused to pass a few breaths

Don just sat there in confusion. Though he had his doubts, he hoped that maybe something would dawn on him as to what the hell was going on. He really hoped that this man would be able to help him, but Don couldn’t get a read of him. The guy just had an overall devilish aura to him. And of course Mr. Weaver's excitement was very unsettling on the fact that Don couldn’t tell if it was that he was upset or intrigued.

"We have the brightest people in the history of man trying to figure this out." Mr. Weaver continued. "Yet, like I have said... no one in the entirety of the Office of Naval Intelligence has any idea on what the fuck these rifts are."

Don swallowed slightly at the mention of ONI. First he clearly recognized his newly gained strong resemblance to a Halo Elite, and now he was facing a man who belong to that game lore’s equivalent to the KGB or CIA. This was not a good thing for him to deal with.

"Let's think... You say you are from the 21st century? So you would know of the ‘Wow Signal' from way back in the year 1977?” He paused. “It is a very specific signal, yet it is quite the popular anomaly.”

"Sort of..." Don answered nervously, hardly remembering much about the thing he was even talking about.

"That was the first ever recorded instance of the rift frequency..." Mr. Weaver sighed heavily. "Do you like conspiracy theories, Donald?"

"No… Not really..."

"That is a shame… You’re part of one now."

"What? Why?" Don jerked slightly at his restraints.

"Because you and your companion are the only living creatures to be found alongside one of these anomalies."

Don didn't know what to even say in regards to that

"So... that being said. I urge you to answer my questions as well as you can." He suggested rather firmly. "Now tell me... what were you doing before you got here?"

Don sighed hopelessly "I’ve already told you."

A scowl grew across Mr. Weaver’s face. “I know you know something about how you are here, Donald, and I intend to find out whether or not I have to rip it out of your throat.”

“I’ve told you everything I know, damn it!”

“Nothing more to say?” Mr. Weaver hummed with a smile. ”What is your favorite color?”

A lowly growl escaped Don’s throat. “Red.” You snarky bastard.

“Oh… No reason.” He gloated slightly. “That was not too difficult… Though I wonder if it will be that easy to remove more information from you…” He turned from Don for a moment. “What color do you bleed, creature? Do you think it is red like your favorite color? Or something else?”

Oh fuck no. Don stiffened, not caring to really answer as he saw this going downhill quite quickly.

“I think we should find out.” Mr. Weaver gave a crooked smile and leaned forward over Don’s chest to firmly grip his lower right mandible. He could see Mr. Weaver now held a pair of thick pliers in his hand.

Don could do little more than straining against his restraints helplessly as he tried to stop the man. No matter how hard he strained, the bastard came in with sickening precision and took ahold of the furthest back molar on Don’s upper left mandible. With the greatest fight the Human could, he quickly wrestled the tooth from its root. It was an excruciating experience that Don barely remained conscious for. Once the bastard had removed Don’s tooth, he was left without hardly any feeling in half of his face. He could feel the warmth of his blood dripping heavily from his mouth and onto his tongue. Despite the taste and the blinding pain, he gave only a few screams from this. His mind itself had been panicked enough with the transfer over to this world; though he would hate to admit it, it somehow helped him through this endeavor.

“Amazing! Your tooth structure is simply amazing!” Mr. Weaver chuckled with a smug face.

“You fuck!” Don screamed out in and agonizing pain.

“Oh, you have seen nothing yet, Donald. I am going to get what you know at any cost. Now if you want this to end now just tell me how you are here.”

“I told you!” Don yelled. “I don’t fucking know!” The pain and blood was making it a bit more difficult for him to speak.

“Do you know what the worst part of being someone as methodical as myself?” Mr. Weaver skirted around Don’s answer as if uninterested. “Most of the people like me suffer from Obsessive Compulsion Disorder. And today…” He grinned widely. “I am finding that I am quite tick-full today. Your teeth are now not symmetrical and it is bothering me immensely.” He chuckled darkly. “Let me fix that.” With this, he leaned in and proceeded to pull the other three rear molars from Don’s other mandibles.

Weaver, unable to get any more information from Don, eventually exited the room, leaving Don to deal with his bleeding face mouth in the room alone. He would find that the silence did little to ease his nerves. On top of having to listen to his own soft groans and cries, his mind was still racing and unable to fully figure out why this was happening to him. Even as the pain in his mouth diminished over time, he still laid bound and fearful of what was to come. He didn't want to think about that; He just wanted to go home to Morgan and his family. He wanted to be back in Nevada safe and sound with Mike with him. But now, his face was starting to become swollen from what Weaver had done. He wished that he had passed out after the first one, yet he wasn't that lucky. He always thought that he had quite the pain tolerance, but this ordeal was well in its own league.

What stung him the most was that this was real. All of it was terrifyingly real; this was no bad dream. Now he was stuck somehow in the body of a Sangheili, strapped with no means to an ONI interrogation table. His chances of survival were essentially zero and it was all too clear that Weaver was probably never going to be satisfied with the answers Don would give him. His time alone wasn’t very long as Weaver soon would return for more. Don had barely stopped bleeding and his mouth and cheeks were now heavily swollen. The only grace of the short time he had was that his face had hurt too much that it all blended together evenly.

With the sly smile of a fox, Weaver returned with a few items that Don could not quite make out. “Well, hello there. I see you’re doing well from our earlier encounter.”

A low, helpless rumbling growl escaped Don’s pained throat.

“Oh stop that.” Weaver half playfully mocked. “You’re doing fine. Though I think you would do much better if you actually told me the truth.”

“I told you what I knew...” Don muttered as well as he could, his mouth stung harshly with each moment of speaking.

“What was the color of the rift?”

“...Don’t remember... Whitish yellow? ...The fuck does it matter?”

“I will ask the questions around here, Donald.” Weaver sternly spoke as he prodded his index finger harshly against Don’s chest. “Were there arks of electricity? Flames? Smoke?”

Don grew quite, desperately trying to recall. Maybe if he gave the man any more details he might lay off a bit. “I… Didn’t see any.”

“How did you not see any of that stuff?”

“We were going too fast to see.”


“200…” Don answered quickly… He remembered that at least.


“At least…” He grumbled. “Needle was past that.”

“So, if old ‘American’ standards are what you’re referring, you are speaking in miles per hour?”

Don nodded.

“See? I asked you that earlier and you didn’t know. We are getting somewhere, aren’t we?” Weaver looked down for a moment as he jotted that down on something.”

“Does that help?”

“Mmm… not really” Weaver shrugged. “Though it helps a theory of the anomalies requiring a certain traveling speed to happen. Sort of like our Slip space engines I suppose.” He paused for another moment. “Now what else can you tell me? How does your kind activate these rifts?”

Don swallowed and grew silent. So that is what you think… Great.

Don’s quite seemed to upset Weaver a good bit. “I know your kind is responsible for these anomalies, and you’re going to tell me how this stuff works!”

“I don’t have anything for you…” Don grunted lightly.

“And what if I don’t believe you?”

Don sighed. “Then blow it out your ass.”

Weaver’s face twitched very slightly, very obviously upset. “We need to try something else.”

With the tautest face that he had shown yet, Weaver moved around behind Don and before he knew it, the table he was strapped to begin to tilt backwards until his head was lower than the rest of him. As the table stopped moving, Don could see Weaver pulling over what he assumed was a garden hose before taking a thick cloth from a nearby table; Don knew exactly what was about to happen. Without a word, Weaver turned the hose onto a calm stream before he draped the cloth over Don’s head. Don breathed in part way and held his breath just moments before Weaver began to let the water flow over the cloth. The fabric became soaked instantly, its sheet clung damply to Don’s face as the water quickly filled his nose. Luckily Don had trained for such a thing earlier in his life. The main obstacle with waterboarding was the mental aspect. Close the airways to your nose in the back of your throat and just let your sinuses fill with water. Once it is, then it’s no worse than swimming; hold your breath and close your eyes and wait it out. Weaver, driven by his anger, was very rough with the process to begin with. Judging by how tightly he had been holding the cloth around Don’s face and the length of time he was going with each duration of spraying water showed that he had it clearly set out for Don. Don, despite all of his pain and frantic thinking, did well to try to keep calm. He found that thanks to seemingly bigger lungs, he was easily able to hold his breath through the process and even went as far as to feign struggling to try to play along. Eventually, after what felt like several minutes, Weaver removed the cloth as he partially tilted the surface forward. Once Don was somewhat upright, Weaver moved around to face him. The ONI man paused when he saw a lack of panic in Don’s eyes.

“That… did not bother you?” Weaver asked with a slight frown

Don responded by ejecting the water in his nasal cavity with an exhale through his nose. “No. It didn’t”

Weaver cursed softly.

“My answers won’t change…” He spoke and tried to breathe calmly. “I have told you what I know and I will not give you false information.”

Weaver glared at him for several moments only to straighten his jacket and hair before leaving the room without another word. After he had left the room, and the door closed tightly behind him, the room grew silent. Don sighed at this lightly in relief. He knew this man was very likely going to make the situation much worse, but at least he now had more time to try to figure out what the hell was happening. This thought was in vain of course, as he still had no conceivable theory on what had happened to him. Of course, Weaver mentioned he had theories, but the ONI man was probably desperate or off his rocker and Don had no idea which would be worse. Regardless of what was wrong with Weaver, Don was now stuck alone and unsure on the surface as he wondered what Weaver would try next, and what he might be doing to Mike.

Don had fallen asleep for a good portion of the day. While it was far from the desired time to sleep, it felt nice to feel something else besides pain and fear. Even though the rest was dreamless, it was needed. He was woken up abruptly by the opening of the door. His eyes opened quickly to see Weaver entering the door briskly with a revolver clutched in his hands.

“Alright, Donald it has been 15 hours since I gave you time to think.” Weaver spoke loudly and quite aggressively. “I want you to tell me everything you know… Who you are, where you are from, and how the rifts work.”

Don tensed up slightly at this, trying to wake up quickly. “We... have already been over this all before…” He tried to answer.

“That sucks for you.” With that he placed a round in the cylinder and flicked the cylinder closed. Without warning Weaver leaned forward quickly and forcefully shoved the barrel of the revolver into Don’s mouth. The metal of the weapon stamping against the back of his throat caused him to yelp. His stomach and throat wrenched harshly as he desperately fought with his gag reflex as Weaver fiddled with the specific position of the gun. “I don’t care if you say you know it or not. You are going to tell me what I want to know. Do you understand?” Weaver questioned angrily as he sort of dug the barrel against Don’s throat. “This is your first strike.” With that he pulled the trigger. Click

Don jerked heavily as Weaver pulled the gun from his mouth; he was barely able to keep himself from throwing up.

“Get talking!” Weaver barked as he held the weapon limply in his hand.

Don inhaled painful as he tried to choke an answer. “Wh- what more do you want?!”

“You already know what I want, Donald!” Weaver aimed the revolver towards Don’s chest and pulled the trigger. Click “You got four more tries left to tell me about the rifts!”

“I don’t know anything about them!”


“Fuck!” Don, now legitimately fearing, yelped. “It was whitish in color!”

“And?!” Weaver yelled as he held the gun against Don’s chest.

“And what?!” Don spat back at the deranged man.

Click “Do not fuck with me, Don! What else!?”

Don’s mind raced in a panic for details. “Our car went crazy and accelerated through it!”

Weaver stopped instantly, his body suddenly losing all of its rigidness. “What was that?”

“Our car…” Don swallowed. “Something hit the car and caused it to accelerate out of control. We passed through the rift thing that came out of nowhere and we… we fell through a void.”


“And we ended up here! Apparently as fucking aliens! That is it!” This was the best explanation Don had been able to give thus far. He doubted it was enough.

“That is interesting…” Weaver seemed to consider this. “Well… you passed.”

“P.... Passed?”

Weaver shove the barrel against Don’s forehead between his eyes and pulled the trigger. Too much of Don’s surprise, despite him clenching his eyes closed and jerking in anticipation, nothing happened. What came instead was the sound of several clicks of the hammer against the strike plate, followed by Weaver’s soft laughter building swiftly in his ears. Don opened his eyes confused.

“You thought there was a real bullet in there?” Asked with a chillingly smooth calm demeanor.

Don gawked slightly, not knowing what to feel or think.

“It was a dud.” Weaver proclaimed as he pulled the cartridge from the cylinder to reveal it in fact had no primer. “I just wanted to toy with you one last time before I put you both in cryo sleep and send you to Reach so we can pull you apart and see what else we can find out.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I would if I could. So long, Donald. I’ll see you over Reach.” Weaver took himself, and his gun, out of the room.

The quiet left by Weaver’s exit was short lived as several individuals in scrubs entered the room. They gathered around Don as they tilted the surface fully flat. Before he knew it, the entire rig he was strapped to was now being shoved out of the room. The staff then began to push his rig down hallway. After a few moments of getting pushed down the corridor, the squeaking wheels of another rig and the sound of a disgruntled voice crying out in protest could be heard. Though at a passing listen the voice may have not been recognized by Don, with a careful listen it was the deeper tone version of none other than Mike.

“Let me fucking go you sick sons of bitches!” Mike demanded at the top of his terrified bellowing voice.

“Mike!” Don shouted out quickly.

“Don!? Where the fuck are we?!” Mike, recognizing who the voice belonged to, demanded. “What the fuck is happening?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Be quiet!” One of the men pushing Mike’s rig shouted.

“Why don’t you make me you fucking gook!” Mike shouted

“I swear to god-” The man shouted back.

“What are you gunna do that you already haven’t done to me?!” Mike shouted back. “Let me out of here!” Before he could say more, the sound of something electrical buzzing loudly could be heard before he let out a panicked scream.

With Mike left in quite audible tears, the rigs were pushed even further until they came to turn into a place that Don could only assume was a shower room. One of the men called all but two of the staff off to the hallway to guard the door as the rigs were slowed to a stop. Their rigs were tilted up quickly before most of the staff left. Once upright, several clicks were heard from the rigs and the restraints suddenly unclamped from around the two, leaving them to fall limply to the floor. It was only by reflex of Don putting down before him to catch himself from busting his face on the floor. Standing freely now that they were off was impossible for the both of them.

Their legs, as hard as they might, did not want to not work properly from the lack of tenseness in the unused muscles. Before they could hardly get their bearings, the ONI staff began to spray them with hoses. The water the ONI staff sprayed onto them was unpleasantly hot. It was the temperature that was not quite hot enough to scald the skin, yet it caused discomfort. Whether it was intentional by the staff was unknown as Don and Mike knew nothing about the new skin now possessed. The washing went on for a good few minutes and the two went nowhere. Every time they attempted to get up the staff would blast the stream of water at them until they were knocked over.

While Mike had spent most of his time shouting profanity and slipping around frantically, Don was thinking critically about their situation. It would be quite a stretch, but he thought that they could possible push back and escape this facility. The staff had let Don and Mike free of their restraints.

After several minutes of wearing the two down with the hose, the staff duo stopped the water flow. Don and Mike both laid still as they breathed heavily as they tried to clear their mouths of liquid. The two ONI staff muttered amongst themselves briefly before the one without the hose approached Mike. As the man drew close, Mike yelled out more profanity at them, his loud booming voice and sudden jerk caused the two ONI men to flinch.

Taking advantage of their shift of focus, Don pushed himself off the floor and took hold of hose still clasped in the one staff member’s hands. Somehow, by what must have been fight or flight instincts, he was able to use his legs almost perfectly fine, As he took a tight hold of the hose, the ONI staff let go and stumbled away with a loud curse. The orderly quickly tried to pull, what Don would assume to be a side arm, out of his right pocket. Before he could, Don shifted slightly in his stance as he swung the end of the hose like a medieval flail. Too much of the effect, the weighted head of the hose violently struck the side of the ONI staff’s head. The force of the collision was enough to instantly cave the man’s skull in, leaving his body to fall heavily to the floor; the glint of his sidearm scattered onto the floor. Don scrambled slightly to pick up the gun to see that Mike was slamming the other medical staff man’s head against the floor.

“Mike!” Don called out to him as he stood, pistol in hand.

“What?!” Mike huffed as he looked up from the now dead

“Check his side for a gun!”

At this point, the sound of the door opening could be heard. Don quickly turned himself towards the noise with the weapon raised, just in time for him to fire a shot towards the mass of the entering medical staff. The off handed shot was surprisingly well placed, clearly well translated from his muscle memory, leading one of the men to fall to the floor from a bullet to the mid torso. The others tried to scatter for cover as they struggled with their own weapons. Don and Mike too moved to the protection of two pillars in the center of the shower room.

Don quickly peered out from behind his pillar to see three frantically placed medical staff that were trying to get themselves out of sight. Don raised the weapon to take two quick shots at one of them. One of the rounds clipped the man in the leg and the other struck the center of his chest, hopefully enough to put the man down. Don snuck back into cover just as a small volley of rounds ricocheted off the edge of the pillar next to his head, causing him to jump and tightened his stance. Mike took a quick chance to help out by yelling and quickly waving his hands around the pillar with a swift glance. Of course the frantic men took several shots at Mike even after ducked back into cover. Using this as a distraction, Don turned around the other side of pillar and hastily fired another two shots that would hit the chest and neck regions of the two remaining men.

“Fuck!” Mike exclaimed as he looked around to see no one else shooting at them. “Nice shot.”

“Mike, go get a gun and quit fucking around.” Don barked softly as he glanced at the doorway to see if anyone else was coming through. Now there might be at least a slim chance!

Luckily for the two, no other ONI personnel were currently entering the room. With a brief pause in action, Don quickly looked over the weapon that he had been using. The bronze colored firearm was tiny in his hand; it felt like he was holding a sub-compact handgun. On the side of the weapon read ‘Mirasha Armories’ and it stated that it was a 12.7mm model ‘M6C.’ Despite its simplicity, much like a Colt M1911, there was some grace to be seen in its design.

With a fresh magazine of 8, Don pulled the slide back to chamber a round. With a definitive weapon, the two of them could make a better stand against the ONI personnel. While he stayed conscious of the now closed door, he began to go around the shower house as he turned all of the faucets with the hot knobs on full.

"Oh, look at you! Using your noodle!" Mike admired slightly. "I'll get the rest. Watch the door."

Don gave a quick nod before returning to his pillar. The air soon became heavy with mist from the showers. The steam would give an improvised screen to make it difficult for anyone coming in. Even if the attackers would have infrared sights or visors, the steam would hopefully throw that off. It would have been great to have exited the shower room, but they wouldn’t dare trying to move so quickly in unknown space. Soon the sounds of men rushing to the ship section could be heard racing down the hallway. Don's grip tightened around the awkwardly small grip of the pistol. Two men in what could be assumed as armored combat uniforms entered the large room cautiously, each with rifles in hand.

Don and Mike waited for several silent moments as the soldiers slowly made their way through the room. As soon as they got within a few paces from the two pillars, Don popped himself slightly out just to fire a round directly into the face of one of them. He quickly ducked back into cover as a volley of automatic fire graced the corner of his pillar. None of the rounds compromised the corner. Mike, taking the distraction that Don had started, turned and fired twice into the shooting man. With a scream and the clattering of his armor and weapon to the floor. Mike fired several more shots towards the door and ended up emptying his pistol.

"I'm out!" Mike growled in annoyance.

"Grab another. I got you.” Don nodded his head to show he was ready.

Mike checked quickly for a clear window before swiftly going for the AR. However, as he moved out of cover, a fast flying object flew through the air and struck Mike in the center of the chest. The object, which could be easily seen as a weapon loaded bean bag bounced harshly off him as he toppled over with a yelp. With Mike on the floor clutching his chest, Don lost his concern for cover and speedily attempted to pull his friend from the line of fire. This decision would show to be their downfall as the attackers were at the ready. Don felt something heavily prick into his neck just behind his jaws. Immediately he felt his nerves becoming numb, his vision harshly blurred as his limbs felt weak. Within seconds he lost sense of where he was and was soon met by the cold wetness of the floor.

"You both got far didn’t you?" The somewhat faint sound of Weaver's voice. “Well… I can promise you one thing, Donald. I will be sure that you are awake when they tear you open."
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