Chapter Text
Past
She did not Trigger inside a locker.
She Triggered while watching an Endbringer sink Newfoundland.
She fell onto the floor, temporarily going unconscious from the forced connection to her brainstem.
[DESTINATION.]
[TRAJECTORY.]
[AGREEMENT.]
[OBJECTION.]
[QUERY.]
[SUGGESTION.]
[ACCEPTED.]
[PROCEEDING.]
Images flashed through her mind. Humanity on a galactic scale, fighting itself, then genocidal aliens, then alien parasites, and genocidal aliens again.
She saw a man, no, a captain (James G. Cutter, Captain, UNSC Spirit of Fire) defy an alien host for the longest time with only half the crew he was supposed to, denying the aliens (The Banished, led by Atriox) a true victory.
She saw 5 supersoldiers (Noble Six) defy the alien, defending a planet (Remember Reach) until their last breaths.
Lastly, she saw a single supersoldier’s story with a blue AI, Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan-117 and Cortana. She watched them as they made waves throughout the galaxy, breaking entire Covenant forces by themselves.
In the end, she admired all of them, but the respect in her heart only went to one. A wry smile decorated her mind.
“Captain on bridge!”
Present
Hana, also known as Miss Militia, stood along with the rest of the Protectorate, PRT, New Wave and Wards on the landing pad of the Rig. In her right hand, her weapon shifted constantly, going from handgun to rifle to rocket launcher before going back to a knife. She was, understandably, nervous.
Why? Well, today, she and the rest of the heroes gathered there today had been invited by the power that had subdued Lung, taken down Coil, arrested the Undersiders, and shot Stormtiger, Cricket, and Hookwolf to the point they were walking vegetables. And despite all their achievements, the PRT and the world had been given only one identifying name and insignia.
“UNSC.”
Nervous was an understatement.
She glanced to her left at Colin, aka Armsmaster, and Dragon as they conversed in low tones. “Colin? Dragon? What are you two talking about?”
Dragon’s suit tilted its head towards her. “Ah, it’s good to see you, Hana. Colin and I were just discussing some interesting things regarding this ‘UNSC’, mainly—“
“How they’re going to fare against Endbringers.” The three of them turned their heads as both Alexandria and Legend, leaders of the Triumvirate and Protectorate, respectively, joined their conversation. “Given the capabilities they showed against Lung, I would assume that this ‘Captain’ is a Master with hundreds of projections.”
“Thus making her an excellent asset against any S-Class threat, even the Simurgh.” Colin nodded sagely. “I can see your reasoning. However, what makes you think they’ll be inclined towards the Protectorate?”
Legend spoke up this time. “I believe that their intervention against the Slaughterhouse 9 earlier this year would serve as sufficient evidence.”
They collectively shuddered. A few months ago, outside Iowa, the PRT received reports of a massive explosion following reports of the Nine being in the area. They had arrived, only to be met with nothing but charred remains — even the Siberian and Crawler were gone — and a 5-mile wide crater. Later evidence supports 2 vehicles being in the vicinity of a blast reminiscent of a pre-Simurgh idea from the former NASA of an orbital drop weapon nicknamed ‘Rods From God’. Later, the PRT would receive an email from the UNSC claiming the kills and the bounty in an untraceable account, one that Number Man wasn’t able to track.
Yeah, any organization capable of that at any time would make any person crap their pants at the thought.
At that moment, Dragon tilted her suit’s head to the sky. “My sensors detected atmospheric reentry. ETA: 5 minutes.”
The surrounding heroes and PRT staff tensed. “The Simurgh?” Asked Alexandria.
Dragon shook her head, and the surrounding heroes breathed a sigh of relief: “It’s not her. My satellites still put her in the upper atmosphere. This object is made of an odd composition of metals and an unknown substance.”
Colin raised an eyebrow. “That’s odd. So this could mean…”
“Extraterrestrials.”
Everyone turned to Hana, making her realize that she was the one who said that. “W-Well, if it’s an unknown material, and powers don’t exactly work outside Earth’s atmosphere…”
Colin just said, “Sphere.”
Hana wilted.
The sound of roaring engines pulled the attention of every person on the Rig’s platform as what looked to be a less refined version of the Quinjet from Aleph’s superhero movies came down for a landing. It touched down right in front of their small group, and the bay door soon began to slide down with a hiss, revealing… humanoids in power armor?
Their suits were pristine, but looked like they were built for combat. A yellow sheen covered the suits, some kind of energy field? Beside her, Hana could hear Dragon and Colin whispering to each other. Each suit bore different colorings: the lead one seemed… older, aesthetic-wise, with a yellow visor, camo green decals without the camo, and a brim on the helmet. To their right, a distinctly female compatriot wore what appeared to be a sleeker, more mobility-focused version and had a sniper rigle slung over their back. To their left, a male-fitting compatriot holding… a rocket launcher with 3 barrels?!
The one in the middle began to speak. “Identify yourselves.”
In the interest of diplomacy, Alexandria stepped forward. “Alexandria, head of the Los Angeles Protectorate.”
The figure stepped closer, a hand resting on their futuristic assault rifle. “The Corpse isn’t dead.”
Even behind her helmet, Hana felt Alexandria’s eyes widen. “Just dying. How do you know that?”
The figure straightened in a resting position. “Master Chief Petty Officer SPARTAN John-117, leader of Blue Team. To my right and left respectively are First Class Petty Officer SPARTAN Linda-058 and Lieutenant junior-grade SPARTAN Frederic-104. We’re here to escort 6 specific individuals.”
Dragon stepped forward. “Apologies, but escort to where?”
John-117’s head turned to the mobile suit. “To the UNSC Spirit of Brockton, ma’am.”