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Awaken 'O Sleeper

Summary:

A legacy is what a man leaves behind to the world, the culmination of past deeds laid down at his feet for those who come after. War is what inheritance has been passed, and to an old ship left behind in war, forgotten and half-dead they will not go gently into the dark.

And when sleepers awaken, they'll discover just what inheritance they left behind.

Told in a series of drabbles.

Notes:

lol look at the loser author who hasn't updated. I'll come back and update everything i swear

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Stars die in their own Inferno

Summary:


"Exitus Acta Probat"
— The Spirit Of Fire's motto (Latin for "The Outcome Justifies the Deed")

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

1.

The shards of the rocks and hot metal tearing through someone's skin, the not so pleasant feeling of your muscles contracting and twisting, and in a moment of clarity, she knew -- 

Lt. Marilyn Shea hated hope. The twisted leg is damned, hope will not drag her dead empty to the edge of the world, not leave her alone and dying for someone to write up. It was a nasty drug that would drag your corpse around with no regard to what will happen. A leap of faith someone said in passing.

They say when standing on the brink of death your life flashes before your eyes—your hopes, your regrets, your "should-a, would-a, could-a," wishes and wants. They say these things all play out like some well-worn airstrip, well she's calling bullshit.

When the frag entered her now-fucked life, she didn't see angels or some mythical voice. She saw nothing but red pain, that swallowed her whole. So she is in this forsaken, good-for-nothing world for some damn reason, because every person who she knew thought she was dead in space. Well, they wouldn't be too far off now. 

She wonders if her team is still alive and kicking ass. She hates to hope, but like the nasty drug, she can't resist hoping that they're okay. Maybe they made it to the rendezvous points, strategically planned for this. Even though she knows it will come back and bite her in the ass. 

The purple-turned-red flash in the sky brought her from her fast turning thoughts.

Damn 'em. Ex-covenant, or whatnot, she doesn't even get paid now, UNSC thought they were dead, mom thought they were dead, the world moved on, so why can't these fuckers move on too? This new breed of war sang the same tune. Wasn't there suppose to be peace? Someone said that the fucking Covenant claimed they were tricked and called for an alliance. She calls bullshit again, but if what the A.I. said was true, well, she owned a whole house to someone.

She loves war, like any other soldier. The cutting-edge, between life and death setting moment where you were you and no one else. She wasn't some hopeless addict, because she fucking hates war as much as she loves it.

So how the fuck is she dying on this stupid mega butt ring instead of being on a beach somewhere?

Fuck the goddamn UNSC and the damn Galaxy.

So she takes a breath and drags her battered body to the closet's corpse her sight can see. Which isn't far. But in fact, it turns out to be the damn rookie. The damn fucking rookie that is fresh of the Academy and was too fucking young to join the war. They kept teasing the poor kid, but he was one of them, he one of us. And now he's corpse is in some ring without any means of escape. 

She hated.

She fucking hated everything right now as she wished the frag would've taken her instead of the kid. The fact still remained that her life never flashed before her eyes. Or whatever sappy movies say. No, there was never a last-minute regret, any things she wished she could have done better.

Stupid Forerunner structure that got her team killed.

Stupid Atriox for still fighting. She's supposed to be home.

No matter, if there was nothing left, her home, was glassed and left for dead long after she joined the fight.

Her radio is heavy and burning, burning at her armor, and clogging her nostrils from smelling the gases from the corpses.

She still drags herself though. Even though she cussing more than a priest would feel comfortable hearing. When singing her colorful language, she never hears the thumps of the heavy hooves hitting the ground.

But even though the blood leaving her is making her drowsy, she still has enough for her brain and a gun in her hand.

She fucking hates hope.

Because if it wasn't because of Hope, she would have played dead or shot herself. Instead, the happy drug forces her to raise her gun and pray to whatever God out there, that her death buys her team a few precious seconds.

The sword burns through her skin, cracking it and melting her bones. Her blood boiling and causing her vessels to pop like a cherry. She never screams, but the shot rang out and she took one last victory to her grave as the pain took her to sleep.

The Capitan of an old ship watched the status and the repeating motions the ship gave to the lastest battle. This is close now, the professor needs more time, so they'll make time. He sighs, controls and plans said that they should attack, but he looks at his men and calls the attack at dawn.

Pray that he doesn't doom more men.

Notes:

Update 1: came back, saw this monstrosity and said ew