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click here for - Chapter VII - In Spartans We Trust (http://www.bfmracing.net/forums/index.php?topic=37791.0)
Chapter VIII - Awakening
Jumping up, weapon ready, the Spartan quickly checks his surroundings. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart and the rain pelting his helmet. Then he hears another scream of the bird, or what closely resembles a bird, flying high over the light emanating from this moon he has called home for too long. The Screamer had woken him, yet again.
“Rain… The Screamer… Not Purgatory…” the Spartan said as he let out a sigh of relief. The jungle was wet, always wet. There was no sand here, no sun that could be seen, only swamp and rain. Bugs were everywhere always making noise, clicking, buzzing, and crunching underfoot. The screaming bird like creature, never without an insect meal, was constantly reminding the Spartan that he was an intruder on this remote jungle moon. He sighed again. Purgatory was light years away and ancient history. But the nightmares of his first assignment would never stop.
The Spartan walked to the nearby downed Pelican and up the ramp. Not much worked in this wreck anymore but at least the water filtration system was still online. The crackling and flickering of the light above was no longer annoying to the Spartan, he had several months to get used to it. At least he thought it had only been months. Reaching up under his helmet, the Spartan unclipped the latches. They hissed as they were released and equalized the pressure between his suit and the moon’s atmosphere. The hot humid air hit his face and filled his lungs. The smell of the gasses in the swamp and the muck filled his senses. It stunk but he was happy to be alive to be able to smell it. He had learned his lessons well on that day so long ago.
He stepped up to the makeshift sink he had built and turned the valve to let fresh filtered water in the basin. He cupped his gloved hands the best he could and splashed his face. Looking up to the piece of polished metal he placed over the sink, he saw his distorted face dripping and staring back at him. In the reflection, he saw dark eyes that had seen too much, been too many places, and witnessed too many horrors. He turned his head slightly to the left and right trying to get a better picture of himself. His face was lightly scarred, here and there. Grey hairs had woven themselves in with the dark hair at the temples.
How long had it been since that day? On so many planets, so many worlds, where no day is the same as an Earth day, no year the same as an Earth year, he had no idea. With all the hibernation chambers and interstellar travel, there was no way to know how long it had actually been. Were any of his friends from back home still alive? Was anybody at all back on Earth still alive? And what about the one that shot at his heart? His fingers ran over the old and dirty dent in his chest plate as he wondered if she was still alive. The corners of his mouth crept up slightly as he thought of the one time that he had made her smile. And he thought of the veteran and the last salute he had ever had. What about him?
He turned to look at the garbled flashing coded transmission on a nearby console that he had received a few days before, asking for help on an armored transport mission. The message was coded as coming from a group called, BFM. The thought that someone was still out there gave him hope. He left it on the screen as a reminder that he was not alone. But it had been so long since he had seen another human being. Would this soggy, bug-infested moon be his final resting place? Not to go out with a bang but slowly rot by some alien fungal spore?
His thoughts were interrupted by the Covenant radio hanging in front of him on the cabin wall. He started to make out alien voices. The voices got stronger and clearer, more and more voices joined in. Covenant ships were approaching! He was safe, the dense vegetation and animal life would hide him from their sensors. He wondered where they would land or if they would land at all. These were the first ships in months; he knew too well that there might not be another chance to get off this moon. His mind raced, how could he find them. With such a large moon, it would be impossible to travel by foot through the swamps and jungle to their landing site in time. They could land anywhere, even on the complete opposite side of this rock. He needed them to come closer to him. He looked around. There was nothing on the Pelican that was salvageable and they would probably never find it through all the interference anyway. He needed something to lure them closer, he needed bait, he needed... His eyes stopped scanning the interior of the Pelican. He slowly looked back at his reflection in the mirrored metal, took a deep breath, and clinched his teeth.
Still staring at himself in the metal, the Spartan picked up the radio and began to transmit. He laughed. No words, he just… laughed. The Covenant knew the laugh. The radio went silent. In moments, the jungle shook and the Screamers took flight complaining at the sound of Covenant dropships exploding into the clouded atmosphere above. With that, the Spartan dropped the radio and grabbed his battered helmet.
Just as he was about to put it on, he saw an area on the inside of the base of the helmet. It was a blank space where it looked as if it used to be home to a concave tag or plate of some sort, now long gone. The blank and discolored area of the helmet had a single word scratched into its surface.
The word read: ”Jokerman”.
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