Based on a true story
Skrid couldn't understand it. Moments ago, he and the rest of his squad had been picking their way through the scrub lands of the human stronghold of Reach and now he found himself in the corridor of one of the Covenant's Corvettes with a squad of other Unggoy he'd never met before. There were two other infantrymen like him, and two special forces soldiers who stared resolutely ahead at the Captain, who strutted proudly in his gleaming pearl armour.
"Get ready boys!" the Captain drawled, grasping at his plasma pistol, "This is our big chance to show these human scum, and the Sangheili and all the rest exactly what the Unggoy are made of! Let's make it count!"
"What the -blam!- is going on?" blurted Skrid. One of the other infantrymen nudged him and hissed.
"Shut up, man!" The special forces soldiers turned and although Skrid couldn't see their eyes through the glowing lenses of their breathing masks, he was pretty sure they were glaring at him. The Captain definitely was.
"Is there a problem back there?!" Before Skrid could respond there came a loud, booming voice that seemed to emanate from the very bowels of the ship. It said:
"SET: START. SKULLS: ON."
"That's our cue, boys!" The Captain cheered, "Let's take it to them!"
The doors of the corridor slid open and the Captain and the special forces soldiers charged out into the expanse beyond. Wild-eyed and starting to hyperventilate, Skrid stood immobilised and overwhelmed by confusion, but one of the other infantrymen caught him under the arm and dragged him out into the fray.
Skrid found himself gazing across the ship's hangar bay, the planet Reach rolling slowly below, visible wrapped in a solemn shroud of fire and ash through the bay's shield doors. All around him were other Unggoy, entire squads racing out of doors and barreling down ramps, eager for the fight. But there were no Sangheilli, no Kig-Yar even. Just grunts. Nor even any sign of who or what they were fighting. Was this a mutiny? Another rebellion?
The answer rang out in the unmistakable crack of a human rifle shot. Immediately, the entire hangar erupted in a barrage of plasma bolts and needler rounds.
"There he is! There he is! Charge!" the Captain crowed as Skrid was swept along into the thick of the chaotic battle. He saw one infantryman from another squad proudly hold two active plasma grenades aloft and hurl himself into the nexus of the crazed volleys of fire. Before he could find his target however, another rifle shot rang out and the mysterious voice again rumbled up from all around.
"FIRST STRIKE."
"Get in a firing position you little -blam!-." One of the special forces soldiers jostled Skrid out of cover, striking the cover of his methane tank with the butt of a fuel-rod gun. Skrid found himself caught in the streams of fire, rolling in a hectic dance of evasion until a human bullet grazed the side of his skull. He fell, helpless but safe below the angle of fire. As he struggled to pull himself behind a large purple wall, he caught a glimpse of their foe. With chilling certainty he recognised the distinctive helmet, the angular body armour, the monstrously distended limbs and towering, upright posture. This was no uprising, it was a suicide mission. Someone had for some reason and by some means entirely beyond Skrid's understanding plucked him from the surface of Reach to be mowed down with his fellow Unggoy by a human SPARTAN. What was that loathsome creature even doing on board a Corvette anyway?
From somewhere deep within him, Skrid felt a tide of determination rising. He couldn't be sure if it was a desire simply to prove the worth of the Unggoy to whatever callous being had organised this slaughter by prevailing, or if it was his hatred of those wretched humans, or if he simply wished to fight and live and tell the story and mate and breed and live well back home. Whatever it was, he felt it surging through the very fibres of his muscles, he felt it boil in his blood. He was going to kill this vile abomination. He was going to survive.
As he prepared himself to leap around the corner and rain down a hellish shower of plasma on the puny monster, there was a hiss and a series of delicate clinks as a human grenade flew over Skrid's head and bounced to rest in the middle of his squad. The Captain and the special forces soldiers dived for cover, but it was too late. Scarcely had the fireball erupted as the booming voice rang out again.
"OVERKILL. KILLING SPREE."
Skrid immediately turned and ran blindly from the SPARTAN as all around him his comrades fell. He threw himself down behind a stack of crates and pulled himself into as small and tight a shape as possible. Slowly, the staccato of gunshots grew slower. Skrid trembled in his hiding place, his strangled breathing seeming deafening in his ears, threatening to drown out the crucial warning sound of a scraped boot or reloaded magazine that would signal that his end was near.
"REINFORCEMENTS."
The bulkhead doors slid open again. To Skrid's amazement, fresh, eager squads of Unggoy poured fourth. His heart swelled. Surely not even a SPARTAN could withstand another wave of Unggoy. Just statistically. The numbers seemed impossible.
But, as he peered out from between the crates, his hopes were dashed as the SPARTAN leaped from platform to platform, darted between patches of cover and effortlessly cut down squad after squad of Unggoy. The monster bounced grenades off walls and around corners, neatly catching entire squads in a single blast. It pounced from the shadows and drove its knife into the throats of infantrymen, then used the butt of its rifle to smash the methane tank of their Captain, sending him spiraling through the air on a plume of green gas and blue blood.
Wave after wave of reinforcements came, and just like those before them they were mercilessly slaughtered by the SPARTAN. It struck out boldly, charging up the ramps to the overhead platforms and commandeering a mounted plasma turret. When the surviving Unggoy huddled in terror beneath the platform, the SPARTAN tore the turret from its mount and jumped down into the midst of the quaking troops. It swung the turret in a wide arc, turning as it fired, sending scorched bodies tumbling across the hangar bay.
"TWO ENEMIES REMAINING."