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  • Poll [13 votes]: What do you think?
Subject: 034: A Fan Fic
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Poll: What do you think?  [closed]
I'm going to join your group. (Top link in my sig):  23%
(3 Votes)
That's pretty damn good.:  69%
(9 Votes)
I've seen better:  0%
(0 Votes)
joo suxXoRz!:  8%
(1 Votes)
Total Votes: 13

I've always wanted to take a crack at Fan fiction, and I've always hated the way Nylund killed off Sam in FoR. Then I realized that I could change that. Now, without any further ado, I give you the first installment in 034: The Story of Sam.


Prolouge (excerpt from Halo: The Fall of Reach, By Eric Nylund)

November 27, 2525 (Military Calendar)/
Covenant ship in orbit over Chi Ceti 4

“Toss those warheads,” Sam said, “and let’s get out of here.”
John set the timers. “Three minutes,” he said. “That’ll give us just enough time to get topside and get away.”
He turned to Sam. “You’ll have to stay and hold them off. That’s an order.”
“What are you talking about?” Kelly said.
“Sam knows.”
Sam nodded. “I think I can hold them off that long.” He looked at John and then Kelly. He turned and showed them the burn in the side of his suit. There was a hole the size of his fist, and beneath that, the skin was blackened and cracked. He smiled, but his teeth were gritted in pain.
“That’s nothing,” Kelly said. “We’ll get you patched up in no time. Once we get back--” Her mouth slowly dropped open.
“Exactly, Sam whispered. “Getting back is going to be a problem for me.”
“The hole.” John reached out to touch it. “We don’t have any way to seal it.”
Kelly shook her head.
“If I step off this boat, I’m dead from the decompression,” Sam said, and shrugged.
“No,” Kelly growled. “No—everyone gets out alive. We don’t leave teammates behind.”
“You’ve got to leave me,” Sam said softly to Kelly. “and don’t tell me you’ll give me your suit. It took those techs on Damascus fifteen minutes to fit us. I wouldn’t even know where to start to unzip this thing.”
John looked to the deck. The Chief had told him he’d have to send men to their death. He didn’t tell him it would feel like this.
“Don’t waste time talking,” Sam said. “Our new friends aren’t going to wait for us while we figure this out.” He started the timers. “There. It’s decided.” A three-minute countdown appeared in the corner of their heads-up displays. “Now—get going, you two.”
John clasped Sam’s hand and squeezed it.
Kelly hesitated, then saluted.
John turned and grabbed her arm. “Come on, Spartan. Don’t look back.”
The truth was, it was John who didn’t dare look back. If he had, he would have stayed with Sam. Better to die with a friend than leave him behind. Bat as much as he wanted to fight and die alongside his friend, he had to set an example for the rest of the Spartans—and live to fight another day.
John and Kelly pushed the pressure doors shut behind them.
“Good-bye,” he whispered.



Chapter One

November 27, 2525 Military Calendar/
Covenant ship in orbit over Chi Ceti 4

Sam watched them walk through the doors, then began to think. The timer in his HUD continued to tick. His orders were to were to hold off the Covenant, but he had never been one to play defense. He checked the ammo counter on his MA5B. If he was going to die, he was going to have one hell of a ride on the way out. The timer hit two minutes and twenty seconds.
Sam punched the button to open a door leading further into the alien vessel. An odd, animal-like shriek issued forth from the room. Obviously not the same bird-esque creatures he had encountered on the way into the ship. These aliens stood just over four feet tall, wearing breath masks. Sam guessed the large humps on their backs contained tanks of atmosphere.
Twelve rounds spat from the mouth of the assault weapon. Bone crunched, armor tore, blood spattered the rear wall. Three of the small aliens fell to the floor. Supercooled methane hissed from the punctured atmosphere tank on one of their backs.
Sam picked up one of his fallen enemies’ weapons. His soldier’s brain felt it obvious that an alien civilization would create weapons that were most effective against their own species. Slinging his MA5B, Sam held one of the plasma weapons in one hand, his M6D pistol in the other. The alien’s soft bodies seemed very susceptible to projectiles, but the ones with shields were a problem. Perhaps the plasma would be more effective.
The Spartan walked toward the next door. It slid open as he reached it. Proximity activated. Part of Sam wanted to make note of this for future use, but he decided that it didn’t matter, as he only had… two minutes and five seconds left to live.
Sam strode into the next room, found it empty, and moved on to the next one. He was in a hangar. A new idea crossed his mind. Survival. All he needed was one ship, or even an escape pod. Something—anything to get him off of the doomed otherworldly vessel.
Two minutes left.
The aliens in the hangar finally registered his presence, and turned to fire on him. All of Sam’s plans for escape wouldn’t be any good at all if he died before he saw them through to fruition. Sam cartwheeled to the right, saw a ship for suitable for hijacking, and charged the open loading ramp.
The ship wasn’t very large, barley bigger than the standard Longsword fighter. It seemed to be constructed of the same material as the Covenant ship.
Three more of the small creatures were inside, running pre-flight checks. Someone had been planning on leaving without Sam. Three shots were fired. Before the aliens had hit the floor Sam had hit the button nearest to the hatch. The ramp slid in and the hatch clamped shut. Sam opened the airlock door leading into the cockpit. Empty.
Something was wrong. The aliens in the rear of the ship had been working like crazy to get the ship ready for launch, and for the pilot to be completely absent… The Spartan had no time to think about it now. He only had one minute and forty-five seconds to get the ship out into the vacuum.
The air in front of him seemed to shimmer. Sam shook it off and got into the pilot’s seat. He scanned the control panel. The buttons were indecipherable, but symbols seemed familiar at the same time. His instincts told him to push a triangular one, and he did. The ship lifted off the deck. He grabbed the control stick and, with no small amount of difficulty, flew out of the hangar.
Sam keyed his helmet microphone. With any luck there would be someone there who could at least give him a clue about how to get back to the Commonwealth without blowing himself into subatomic particles.
The shimmer at the edge of his field of vision was back. He tried to wave it away… His hand hit something solid. His other hand flew to the plasma gun strapped to his belt, but too slow. Something cracked over his helmet, and he blacked out.

The Spartan unconscious, three aliens came into view. They each stood close to seven and a half feet tall, but if they stood fully erect they would be closer to eight. Two wore black armor, one wore gold. The ones in black were obviously frustrated.
“I don’t see why we can’t just kill him now.”
“The Prophets have been very clear that the humans are to be destroyed. Why should this one be any exception?”
The gold-clad beast stepped forward. He was obviously in charge, and would not have his decisions second-guessed.
“Turn this fighter around. Get us back to the ship. This human is obviously different. It was onboard the Silent Contemplator for less than thirty units and in that time it killed …”
The ship had turned back to the Silent Contemplator and was on a vector for the hangar. Sam had been thrown to the floor so one of the black-armored aliens could take the pilot’s seat. As the leader spoke, the timers on the mines Sam had planted reached zero. Red lines flared along the sides of the ship, the magnetic fields containing the plasma weapons failing. The ship buckled and shook, then exploded, the outward shock contained by the residue of the energy shield.
The aliens stared. The gold-plated commander finished his sentence by planting a foot hard and fast into the charcoal-colored flesh on Sam’s ribs.


Look for Chapter Two coming soon! Check your local listings!

  • 09.13.2006 9:42 PM PDT
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Sweet dude, keep up the good work!

  • 09.14.2006 6:27 PM PDT
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A member of Eagle 117s group, The Watchers, A group for the theorists of Bungie.net

We're not retreating... we're advancing in another direction
Gamertag: Jordonferri

hey man that was really good, can you send the finished version to me mabye, i dont no if i will remember to go to the library ever day.

  • 09.15.2006 9:41 PM PDT
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Here's chapter two:

Chapter Two
November 30, 2525 (Military Calendar)
Onboard Covenant fighter, somewhere in slipspace

When Sam first regained consciousness, he was unsure if he had. His eyes were still dark, and none of his limbs felt responsive. The only indication he had that he was still alive was that his mouth was full of the coppery taste of blood.
He blinked several times. Sight came back to his eyes. He tried moving. His hands clenched into fists. Good. He wasn’t paralyzed.
He moved his arms, then pushed himself off the floor.
He was still onboard the Covenant fighter. He wasn’t dead, but he was a prisoner. No matter. Chief Mendez had taught the Spartans how to escape from almost any situation.
Leaning against the wall, Sam assessed himself. The first thing he noticed was that his ribs were in pain. Good. The pain meant that the plasma wound had not destroyed the nerves just beneath the skin. It could be healed in time. In the meanwhile, the irritation of the pain would keep him alert.
He stood up. He had been dumped in the rear of the ship, in what he presumed to be a cargo hold. His captors did not want him dead. That could be an advantage in a future escape plan.
The room was rectangular with rounded edges. Two large metal crates stood at the opposite corner of the room. Possibly weapons storage. Given enough time alone, he could figure out a way to open them.
Sam’s thoughts of opening the crate brought him to thoughts of his combat knife. He looked down. His supply belt was still strapped around his waist. Very good. He opened the middle pouch. His combat knife was still inside. Even better. Now he needed a plan.

“Why are we carrying that garbage, especially after the destruction of the Silent Contemplator?”
Clearly the two black-armored aliens were not pleased with their leader’s decision to keep the Spartan alive after the annihilation of their cruiser. The gold-plated one turned from the viewport.
“This human is different. All of our data, all our observations have said that the humans were soft, weak, technologically inferior. I watched the holorecord from the camera in the cargo hold. He moves faster than any warrior I have ever seen, Covenant or otherwise. He’s obviously an ingenious tactician to think up a way to destroy an entire battle cruiser on his own. His body mass is estimated to be around double the human norm. And his armor is advanced beyond anything else the humans posses. Were it not for our personal shield systems, I have no doubt that it would be superior to our own.”
One of the lower-ranked aliens spoke.
“Be careful what you speak, ‘Toulamee. Our armor has been spawned directly from technology created by the Forerunners. What you say is borderline blasphemy.”
Dias ‘Toulamee scoffed. “I have no doubt that the two of you would leap at the opportunity to have me stripped of my rank just so one of you could take command. And my execution ceremony would simply be an added perk.
“But which one you brothers would take my post? You, Greeda? You’re a coward. You’ve run from battles where Grunts have stood their ground. Not suitable for a level of command where others’ lives are in your hands.
“Perhaps you then, Siha. You, who led an assault on a rebel Jackal stronghold, certainly you have the courage and the attitude to be a field commander or even a ship master. But didn’t you lose seventeen men in that operation? Out of twenty, was it?
“And if my memory serves me correctly, it wasn’t a stronghold at all, but a mere barricaded hilltop, at night while the disgusting creatures were sleeping. One would think it best to insert quietly, get into the center of their camp, and kill them all silently. Or, if all else failed, at least enter the camp before you started shooting.
“No, the brave Siha ‘Midulee thought it best to assault the camp head-on, come back a hero for his courage. One of the worst tacticians the Elite race has to offer. You won’t ever wear gold armor. Niether of you will. Even if I lose my post, another, better candidate will fill it, and the two of you will remain where you are, left only with your plots to remove him and take his place.” Dias smiled as best he could without lips, his four jaws forming the semblance of a toothy grin.
Siha ‘Midulee looked at his brother. Greeda nodded, pulling what appeared to be a weapon’s hilt from his belt. Siha did the same.
“That may be true, ‘Toulamee, but the Prophets will be pleased to hear of our valor in executing a Heretic in our ranks.”
The brothers pressed the activator buttons on their weapons simultaneously. White-hot envelopes of plasma sprang up out of their hilts.
Dias activated his own plasma sword. “Perhaps.” He smiled again. “And perhaps they will hear of my foiling an attempted mutiny.”

Sam popped the seal on the first storage crate. Rations. He moved to the second crate. He crossed his fingers and pushed his knife through the seal. Just what he needed. A crateful of weapons.
The first item to pique his curiosity was a small, handheld cylinder, with some small bulges on the sides. Probably designed to fit better to the hands of its users. Sam thumbed the activator switch and two scythe-like blades of plasma emerged from each end.
“A sword.” The big man smiled under his helmet. Swords hadn’t been used by humans for wars in over six hundred years. It seemed odd to him that a group of species as advanced as the Covenant would still be using melee weapons. He stabbed the weapon into the side of the rations crate. It melted through everything, leaving a perfect hole in the metal. Archaic, but potent.
Sam deactivated the sword and strapped it to his belt. The other weapon in the crate was a plasma gun that resembled the weapon he had been wounded with, only more solid, substantial. The glow of plasma coming through the intricate designs on its sides gave the alien weapon a ghostly appearance.
He test-fired the gun into the rations crate. It was an automatic weapon. Sam released the trigger, not wanting to overheat it. The metal was obviously made for heat dispersion, seeing as the surface of the crate had not melted, although it left a large patch of carbon scoring on the pearlescent surface.
Sam clipped the weapon to his waist, then reactivated the plasma sword. Time for a friendly hello to his captors.

‘Toulamee knew he didn’t stand much of a chance. But he knew that if he died there, in the cockpit of that ship, the two brothers would execute the human. If the specimen did not survive to be studied, then the Covenant would never take a human planet unchallenged ever again.
With a battalion of soldiers like him, the humans could assure themselves that the Covenant would have trouble in ground battles. He knew the Hierarchs and the Council would want to interrogate the meatbag. He had to kill the Siha and Greeda here and now.
Siha attacked first, attempting a thrust at his chest. Dias used his own sword to slap the attack out to the side, then punched the attacker in the side of the head. ‘Toulamee spun to the right, locking swords with Greeda.
Greeda tried to hit him with the same blow that had just been landed on his brother, but ‘Toulamee reacted faster. He spun again, dropping to the floor and knocking his opponent down with a leg sweep. He blocked another attack from Siha, then vaulted over the captain’s chair.
Greeda rolled in to the side, attempting to cut him off at the knees. Jumping up, Dias kicked Greeda in the chin and turned to face Siha. None of them noticed the door from the cargo hold opening.

Sam leaned in, studying the scene unfolding in the cockpit. Two aliens in black armor were engaged in a fight with a gold-armored one. None of them had noticed him.
The gold one, though facing difficult odds, fought with a ferocity that Sam had only previously seen in fellow Spartans. He felt a certain respect for the alien warrior, and made a choice.
Sam jumped forward, the arm holding the sword drawn back, poised like a snake ready to strike. One shoulder slammed into the skull of the standing black-armored alien, the arm attached to that shoulder driving the sword through his foe’s chest.
As he drove the body of his dead enemy toward the floor, Sam unclipped the plasma gun from his belt. He curled his legs up underneath him, planted on the alien’s back and pushed off.
As he shot backward he leveled the end of his weapon at the second black alien and squeezed the trigger. A steady stream of plasma slammed into the chest of his target, causing its personal shield to flare, then fail. The plasma gun locked up and began spewing steam from its sides. Sam skidded across the deck
“Dammit!” Sam cursed at himself for not paying attention of how hot the weapon became. He tossed it aside and jumped to his feet.
The target roared at him and charged. But it had neglected its first enemy. The gold-armored alien swung his blade, separating the attacker’s head from the rest of its body.
The primary threat was ended, but he wasn’t sure whether he could trust the last alien. Deja had taught him that “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Chief Mendez had taught him that “The enemy of my enemy could just be another enemy.”
He picked up the plasma gun and leveled it at the alien. “Friend or foe?!”

Continued below....

[Edited on 9/17/2006]

  • 09.17.2006 6:51 PM PDT
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‘Toulamee dropped his sword. He had been almost completely correct about the human. But he realized that he had underestimated it. He had thought that a battalion or a unit of these armored beings, somewhere from twenty to fifty of them, could balance out the Covenant in planetside battles. He knew after what he had just seen that just twenty humans like this one could completely annihilate any ground forces the Covenant could throw at them.
Surrender wasn’t the honorable thing to do for a Covenant warrior, and was punishable by death, but Dias ‘Toulamee was a realist. He had to get the human back to High Charity alive, and there was no way to get the human there if he was dead.
The human shouted at him again. “Damn it you alien mother-blam!-, answer me! Friend or foe?”
“I am both and neither, human. But I am no threat to you, for you are no good to me dead. Put down the plasma rifle.”

Sam lowered his weapon. “Good. I couldn’t shoot you anyway. I can’t fly this thing. I need you alive.” He deactivated the plasma sword and extended a hand. “Truce?”
The alien placed a four-fingered hand in Sam’s. They shook.
“For now, human. But the day will come when we will have to clash. I have no desire to help you, and you have no desire to help me. But for now, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Sam turned to the control console. Sparks flew where parries and misdirected lunges had destroyed critical systems. The fighter had dropped out of Slipspace.
He gasped. Filling the viewport was a planet, its surface scarred and cracked, steam rising from empty wastelands where the oceans had once been. Sam knew at once where he was.

Join us next time for Chapter three. Now things get interesting...

  • 09.17.2006 6:53 PM PDT
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Good work, although you may want to use the tab button at the beginning of a paragraph. Not trying to flame or nit-pick, but it will make your writing much cleaner and neater.

  • 09.17.2006 7:24 PM PDT
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talent

  • 09.17.2006 9:07 PM PDT

___.............._______/```````````````:::--...
|.==,-.~;. ____:._______ __’__’__’_ _ _\=
|................--:---:--:--‘---:,, ,,, ,,, ,,,:---: /=
`-.,.__._._,,...---:::"
Truth and Reconciliation , Halo Infinities , Council of the Rising

this is great. between all this new fan-fan-fiction(haha) its preparing me for ghosts of onyx. i salute whoever writes this great fan fan fiction

  • 09.17.2006 10:19 PM PDT
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Welcome to chapter three. I told you things would be interesting...

Chapter Three
December 1, 2525 (Military Calendar)
Covenant fighter in orbit around Harvest Colony

Three Covenant ships came into view. Two were the size of the one Sam had destroyed earlier. One was at least twice the length, easily ten kilometers, probably closer to fifteen. He couldn’t tell exactly, as it was headed almost directly at them.
The alien spoke. “A flagship. Human, it’s time for you to play prisoner.”
Sam raised the plasma rifle. “I don’t think so.”

“Calm yourself. You are forgetting, first of all, that you are my prisoner, and that you are only walking free because you helped me. Secondly, if they learn that you are responsible for the destruction of the Silent Contemplator and find that I have allowed you to live, they will execute us both. So for now you must play the part and have faith that I will have us both off this ship before they learn of your actions.”

‘Toulamee opened a wall compartment and removed a pair of energy binders. As he clapped them onto Sam’s wrists a light on the console flashed.
“They’re hailing us. I’ll have them tractor us in, and with any luck we can change ships and be gone.”

Sam decided it was best to listen to his captor. Part of his training had taught him that knowledge was a more deadly tool than any weapon. He decided he would quietly follow along for the time being, but as soon as he had a general knowledge of how to fly one of these fighters, his “friend” was dead and he was on a direct path to Reach, or somewhere close to it.

He walked to the door to the hold. As he walked through, he turned to the Elite and said, “You’d better be right.”

‘Toulamee pressed several different holographic buttons on the control panel, sending a distress signal to the flagship. His plan was dangerous, deadly if it failed, but it was his only option. He hoped that the ship master who greeted him didn’t ask too many questions.
The fighter bucked slightly as the Covenant flagship caught it with a tractor beam. The small craft pulled alongside the larger one. ‘Toulamee let out a gasp.

Two deep scars ran the length of the ship, roughly four meters deep and eight meters wide. The surrounding area had been crushed by the explosive decompression as the particle beams tore through the ship’s hull. He had never seen anything like it before.

The fighter shuddered again as it passed through the hangar’s force field. The small ship rotated and settled, gravity fields stopping it from completely resting on the deck. The loading ramp opened. Sam stood at its top, head bowed, hands bound in front. ‘Toulamee stood just behind and to the right, his head high, plasma rifle resting lightly in his hands.

An Elite in white armor stood at the foot of the ramp, flanked by two in red armor wearing ornate headpieces and carrying plasma swords. ‘Toulamee issued a small push to Sam’s back and moved down the ramp. At the bottom the white elite issued a series of deep guttural growls in Sam’s general direction. When Sam didn’t respond, he was greeted with a swift club to the back of the head. He fell to the deck, his head clanging off the inside of his helmet. The white elite turned to ‘Toulamee.

“Your prisoner is quite defiant, commander.” The Shipmaster bent over to examine Sam more closely. “What species is it? I’ve never seen one like it before.”
Now came ‘Toulamee’s moment of truth. Either he told the commander the truth and hoped that the Shipmaster did not react as Siha and Greeda had, or he could lie. Seeing as he couldn’t think of any way for the Shipmaster to find out the truth, he decided it would be best to lie.

“It’s a new species. One never encountered before. I’m taking him back to High Charity for questioning.”

The Shipmaster turned to the Honor Guard on his left. “Take him to the detention area.”
The two Honor Gaurds hefted Sam to his feet and pushed him toward the nearest doorway. The bulkhead slid quietly open, then closed again as the prisoner and his escorts passed through.

The Shipmaster turned back to ‘Toulamee. “You must be tired, commander. Please make the Resurrection your temporary home. We will have your ship repaired as soon as we possibly can, and then you may continue your holy work.”

“Thank you, Shipmaster. I would like some rest. Please have me notified as soon as my ship is ready.”

‘Toulamee walked through the door that he knew led to the ship’s kitchens and mess area. As he left, the two Guards who had taken the Spartan to his cell returned.
“Search his ship. Remove the flight recorders and camera databases and bring them to my cabin. Then track where his ship came from and contact that ship.”

“You don’t trust this one, sir?”

“No. I don’t.”



The first thing Sam did was survey his surroundings. The entire ship seemed to be made of the same pearlescent material as the hull. The back edge of his cell dropped off, about ten feet. Not a dangerous drop, and probably useful should he need to ambush someone in his cell. The bars were about two inches apart, made of the same odd metal, and roughly two inches thick. No use wasting energy trying to break them.

He then turned his attention to the cuffs on his wrists. They were two metal bands connected by a rubbery strap. He tried to snap it by simply pulling his arms apart, but he felt an intense pressure grow on his wrists. He released the pressure against the cuffs and the pain on his wrists subsided.

He looked at the cuffs as a spark shot across the strap. The cuffs applied his strength against him. These aliens were smart. He patted himself down. He felt his combat knife in his waist pouch, reached for it and saw a small slot in the strap. With no small amount of difficulty Sam fitted the knife into the slot, and the cuffs immediately fizzled and shorted out. The Spartan snapped the strap without difficulty and ripped the metal bracelets from his hands. Now the only thing to do was wait.

Continued below



[Edited on 9/18/2006]

  • 09.18.2006 8:23 PM PDT
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Shipmaster Kai ‘Buumee turned to his personal holoscreen and said, “Show me the video feed from commander ‘Toulamee’s ship. Start at thirty units before its last departure.”
A tinny, metallic voice responded, “Playing…”

The scene that he saw was typical of a ship prepping for departure. Three grunts hurried around the rear of the fighter priming the engines and filling the coolant tanks, while three elites in the cockpit ran preflight checks. The image cut out. The data core was highly damaged by what looked like plasma burns. The image flickered back without sound. The green-armored being that ‘Toulamee had brought with him walked through the ships rear door and opened fire on the grunts. The warrior worked fast, not even breaking step to kill the grunts on his way to the cockpit. The elites, upon hearing the gunfire, had activated their active camouflage and hidden around the perimeter of the room.

The creature, apparently guessing his way through the takeoff sequence, clumsily flew the ship out of the hangar. The image flickered out again, then came back. The creature was unconscious on the floor and the three elites were arguing about something. The audio cracked and cut out multiple times, but made out some of the words.

“Prophets… Very clear… Humans are to be destroyed. Why… different?” The shipmaster thought on this. What did they mean by human?

Toulamee spoke this time. “Obviously… onboard the Silent Contemplator… it killed…” The camera angle out the main viewport showed the ship changing direction and returning to its ship, which Buumee assumed was the Silent Contemplator. The ship appeared in view, and the shipmaster watched as an explosion ripped through the vessel. The cockpit camera saw the three elites looking back and forth in amazement. The image flickered again. The next two days worth of images were mundane, but then, on the third day, things became interesting again. The armored creature, whatever if was, woke up and began to examine everything around him. At the same time, an argument began between the two lower-ranking elites and Toulamee. The audio was even worse than before.

“… carrying that garbage, ….. the destruction … Contemplator?”

“This human is … ingenious ….. destroy …entire battle cruiser …own…. armor is … I have no doubt… superior to our own.”

The audio of the next five minutes was static. The two Spec-ops Elites drew their plasma swords, and one word could be understood through the static: “Heretic.” The three soldiers activated their swords. As they fought, the armored being in the cargo hold had armed himself and walked through the door to the cockpit. It seemed perplexed for a second, then it attacked. It took less than five seconds to kill the two elites opposing ‘Toulamee. The creature was faster than anything he had ever seen. And as far as ‘Buumee could tell, it was responsible for the death of several hundred Covenant warriors and the destruction of a battle cruiser. The two now dead Elites that had challenged Toulamee were completely correct to do so. A threat that dangerous should have been killed on sight. Then ‘Buumee saw the most disturbing thing so far. A brief, inaudible conversation between the human and Toulamee, then the two reached out and shook hands. Buumee had seen enough. He reached to his personal intercom and summoned the honor guards to his chamber.

“Dias Toulamee is a traitor to our covenant. He has defied the Prophets and defected to the humans. Arrest him and put him in the cell with his ‘prisoner.’ Then have the pilots change our course to High Charity. We’re going to have a trial and an execution.”

'Buumee then sent an encrypted message to the two cruisers that were also in-system, telling them exactly what was happening.

“We’ll be jumping out of the system in ten units. Ready your departure solutions and recall any of your fighters.”



‘Toulamee didn’t struggle when the Honor Guards took him. He knew it wasn’t worth it. He was disarmed and outnumbered. But he was now an enemy of the Covenant, and absolutely nothing could change that. At the very least he was going to be stripped of his rank and imprisoned for the rest of his natural life. More likely, though, was the possibility of being executed and having his corpse flown like a flag behind a Banshee during its sentry rounds in High Charity.

As the Honor Guards opened the cell, he heard one of them swear. As the one leading him along approached the cell, he understood what was wrong… the human was gone. The guard pushed him down into the cell and moved next to his comrade.

“What’s going on? Where’d that scum go?”

“What makes you think that I’d know? If I knew, don’t you think that instead of standing here going “Where’s the Human?” I’d be trying to get him back here?”

As the two guards moved toward the rear of the cell, one stepped on something metal. He removed his foot and picked up the Spartan’s energy binders. The two guards looked at each other, then gasped as one thousand pounds of Human and armor flew out of the crevice in the rear of the cell and slammed into them. The first guard fell to the floor, but Sam’s momentum carried himself and the second guard into the far wall of the cell. The guard’s chest was crushed on impact.

Sam turned to face the other guard, who was already on his feet with his plasma sword drawn. The Spartan pulled a sword from the guard’s now dead friend and activated it. He smiled.

“Well, it looks like this is a draw.”

The Honor Guard pulled out a second plasma sword and switched it on. Sam looked at the guard for a couple seconds, then turned and ran out the cell door.

“Your friend is quite pathetic, ‘commander.’” The guard snorted, stepping over ‘Toulamee toward the door of the cell. The guard crept slowly into the opening, then roared as the cell door slammed down on his head. The door slid open again and the Spartan stepped in, combat knife drawn.

“My, how the tables have turned, haven’t they?” He stepped over the now-dead guard and looked at his former enemy.

“If you’re going to kill me, human, get it over with.”

Sam used his combat knife to short out ‘Toulamee’s binders just as he had his own. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you.” He pulled the Elite to his feet. “After those little shenanigans, they’re going to be out to kill both of us. For better or for worse, you and I are stuck together. Now, take this. You’re going to need it.” He tossed ‘Toulamee a plasma sword.

“I assume you have a plan, then?”

“Yeah. We’re going to commandeer this ship and kill anything that gets in our way.”



Join me the next time I finish a chapter for the newest thrilling installment of 034: The Story of Sam

  • 09.18.2006 8:31 PM PDT

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Truth and Reconciliation , Halo Infinities , Council of the Rising

wow/ that was mazing. you are really good at this

  • 09.18.2006 10:11 PM PDT
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Posted by: blackke7995
wow/ that was mazing. you are really good at this


The only problem is that I'm way too slow. I've posted chapter three, but I'm only about a quarter of the way through chapter four. And for the storyline I've got planned, I'm going to be writing anywhere from thirty to fifty chapters.

  • 09.19.2006 2:40 PM PDT
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A member of Eagle 117s group, The Watchers, A group for the theorists of Bungie.net

We're not retreating... we're advancing in another direction
Gamertag: Jordonferri

haha good luck...and..i like how you dont post 1 chapter per day, i really like how you do this..one chapter done onto the next....

  • 09.19.2006 6:49 PM PDT

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Truth and Reconciliation , Halo Infinities , Council of the Rising

hey man, thats great. this forum( no offense) is getting a bit dull. with you and others writing fan fiction,(me too) i have a reason to visit the library. It would be great to have 50 chapters. one a week would take almost a year, but its definately worth it

  • 09.19.2006 10:57 PM PDT
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I write in spurts. Sometimes I'll open the file, sit for an hour, press the spacebar and save. Other times, for instance when I was writing the first three chapters, I laid those down in about four hours. It all depends.

  • 09.20.2006 10:44 AM PDT

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Truth and Reconciliation , Halo Infinities , Council of the Rising

i know my fan fiction kinda sucks, but would you mind taking a look at it. its titled "Fan Fic: a different point of view. i still like yours though

  • 09.20.2006 2:22 PM PDT
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A member of Eagle 117s group, The Watchers, A group for the theorists of Bungie.net

We're not retreating... we're advancing in another direction
Gamertag: Jordonferri

Not to sound like a...dam i forget the word...but when is the next chapter? Or do you no?

  • 09.24.2006 12:30 AM PDT
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WOW..... WOW you could give Eric Nylund a run for his money I mean like wow i am going to put a link to this in my sig you are GOOD!!! and normaly i HATE fan fics they suck this is the first exception i have seen e-mail this to bungie or something are you a writer or something?

[Edited on 9/24/2006]

  • 09.24.2006 6:13 PM PDT
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Yeah dude your a dam good writer. keep this up! Fifty chapters would be crazy! Everyone would know about it.

I also am wondering if anyone knows about another fan-fic that is really good that talks about this place called "Cradle" and the MC fights brutes in the 2nd chapter and its really good. I forgot where it is.

[Edited on 9/24/2006]

  • 09.24.2006 8:36 PM PDT
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Posted by: goku1gk4
WOW..... WOW you could give Eric Nylund a run for his money I mean like wow i am going to put a link to this in my sig you are GOOD!!! and normaly i HATE fan fics they suck this is the first exception i have seen e-mail this to bungie or something are you a writer or something?


Sending this to bungie was the original plan. I want this made Canon, because goddamnit, Sam is way too badass to die!


Not to sound like a...dam i forget the word...but when is the next chapter? Or do you no?
I have absolutely no idea when the next chapter will be done. Hopefully sometime before october. I'm writing on a "Whenever I've got time" basis, so it's touch and go.

  • 09.26.2006 2:42 PM PDT
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hurry up

  • 09.26.2006 3:35 PM PDT

Wow, this story is very well-written. I've always wondered if Sam was still alive.

  • 09.28.2006 3:13 PM PDT
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Excellent story, but sending it into Bungie isn't going to do squat. If you have ever heard of sir_brilliant and his fanfic, he tried the same thing. It won't get published, but you'll still have the adoration of your fans.

  • 09.28.2006 10:12 PM PDT