Hausen grunted as the remains of a huge billboard exploded under the concentrated fire of Shanks and pelted him with its debris, hissing as something sharp sliced across his temple. He wiped away the blood that trickled down his face and gingerly flexed his left arm, numb from being hit by a solid metal pipe. He glanced around, but still found himself alone. He had lost everyone almost as soon as the battle had begun, the sudden vicious attack hurling them back and sending everyone rushing for safety. As the whining of Shank engines grew louder, he backed away from where he had been sheltering and made a hasty retreat, jogging in a zig-zag fashion between whatever cover he could find. It was a retreat through chaos. Sometimes he found himself in clear pockets the battle had moved past or had yet to reach, the world standing still and holding its breath in the clear, cold early morning. Other times he could barely see a foot in front of his face, dust hanging thick in the air from the destruction wrought by the continuous alien barrage. The noise was the constant, the sound of human gunfire, alien energy weapons and exploding surrounds. “Hausen!” He started at his sudden hissed name and found a young woman, barely more than a girl, crouched within the shadows of a nearby doorway. Ducking low, he ran across the street and into her hiding place, throwing himself against the opposite side to where she was and sliding down to rest on his knees. “Have you seen anyone else?” she asked in a rush, never looking away from the street outside. Her face was thick with dust, a shadow of a future dark bruise deepening around bright hazel eyes. He shook his head. “Not for a while. You?” She shook her own in reply. “There was someone before you came, a man I think, but he just kept running down the street even after I called out to him”. Hausen nodded as he fumbled around his pockets searching for a reload. “Where is everyone?” she hissed. “Shit”, Hausen cursed as he found every pocket empty. “I’m out”. The woman pushed something towards him on the ground. It was a shotgun. “Found it a while ago, thought I better take it”. “Thanks”, the older man said and checked the barrels. Two empty cartridges sat in the chambers. “Any more ammo?” The woman glanced back at him for a moment, then to the gun. “I didn’t think to look. -blam!-! I’m sorry”. Hausen shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We can take it with us, find…” Whiteness. Blinding whiteness that hurt his eyes. Complete and utter silence. Deafening silence. Then a slight, sharp sound. A whine. A high pitched tone that rushed towards him growing louder and louder and higher and higher until it seemed his head would explode with its intensity and as it grew, it brought with it a thunderous undercurrent, a background torrent of terrible raging noise. As the world screamed at him his vision blurred, it fell into itself to show lines and edges and detail. Grey blossomed in the white. Words. Storage Depot. The words filled his vision. Words stamped on an orange surface. He reached for the words and felt something against the palms of his hands. He pushed and the words retreated, but only a little. He pushed harder and the words fell away to reveal mounds of smoking shattered stone and metal. Hausen worked his jaw and the high pitch whine dissipated. Suddenly the barrage of noise that it had suppressed smashed over him and he clutched his head in his hands at the sudden violence that erupted all around him. His vision swam, then snapped back into focus and as it did the noise dropped in intensity enough that he felt able to lower his hands. His body felt heavy, it was hard to breath. He looked down and found himself covered in rubble. He looked around him at the mounds of charred, smouldering debris, the Storage Depot sign laying haphazardly atop twisted metal. Nothing remained of the doorway he had been sheltering within. He searched around him for the woman. At first he could not find anything, then he saw a boot standing upright in the middle of the street. A boot with a bloody stump rising out of it. Have to move. He tried to push himself up and cried out as pain erupted throughout his body. His side was burning, the source of the pain. He pushed aside shattered stone and cried out again as the movement sparked intense agony. With trembling fingers he reached for the source of the heat just below his ribs and found a metal shaft half-buried in his side. He touched it and almost blacked-out from the explosion of hateful sensation that his contact triggered. Panting, he let his head drop back to rest against what remained of the building he had crouched in only moment before. A moment. Just need a moment… Then he heard the Shank engines again. The Hunter fell to one knee. He couldn’t catch his breath. His chest was so tight. [i]You have to get up![/i] His Ghost sounded panicked. Strange, he could not ever remember his ghost being panicked. Worried, yes, scared, sure – especially up on the Moon when that horde of Thralls had emerged without warning and swept towards him. Never panicked though. He felt strangely detached from his body, almost as if it was not his and he was observing someone else fall forward to lean on the ground on hands and knees, fingers curling around the edges of a cement tile. [i]You have to get up![/i] [i]You already said that.[/i] Strange, he could not remember his Ghost ever repeating itself either, not even when it had urged him to hide when the Gorgon had turned abruptly and almost seen him hiding deep in the Vault of Glass. [i]Remember that Ghost? The Vault? That was something wasn’t it?[/i] [i]You have to… oh no…[/i] There it was again, the panic. Something moved to his left. He tried to turn his head and for a moment his body refused him. Slowly, agonisingly slowly his head did eventually turn. A Fallen Captain stared at him warily, twin blades raised in the air, its head cocked slightly to one side, a low growl coming from underneath its helm as it slowly advanced. [i]GET UP![/i] The Hunter pushed himself to one knee and reached for his pulse rifle. The Captain rushed forward. The Guardian’s finger curled around his weapons trigger. The Fallen raised its blades higher and leapt at him. He tried to raise the rifle, but it was too heavy. The weapon barely moved even though he tried, he really tried to lift it. [i]Oh no…[/i] The captain landed on the pulse rifle, snapping the barrel. Its swords whipped down. The blades clattered ineffectively against his armour. He tried to punch the alien, but his arm fell uselessly to his side. The Captain raised its swords. He tried to summon the Light, but he was tired. So tired. The swords whipped down again. Armour buckled, its surface cracking. The Captain raised its swords again. He tried to form smoke in his palm, but nothing happened. The swords whipped down again. The Guardian screamed as the blades sliced deep into his shoulder, almost severing his arm. The Captain raised its swords again. [i]YOU HAVE TO GET UP![/i] The swords whipped down again. The guardian fell onto his back, desperately holding his remaining good arm above his head to protect him. Flecks of paint and shards of metal burst away from his gauntlet as the swords crashed against it. The Captain raised its swords again. [i]Please! You…[/i] The swords whipped down again. The words of his ghost vanished as the blades knocked aside his arms and smashed into his helm. His vision swam. The Captain raised its swords again. He tried to roll away, but his body would not obey. The swords whipped down again. Petriesen smashed the rock into the Dreg’s face. The alien jerked as it died. He raised the rock again and smashed it again into the aliens face. It finally stopped moving. Petriesen dropped the stone and turned away, the sound of Fallen reinforcements filling his ears. “More coming!” he shouted at two men ahead of him pulling their knives from other Dreg bodies. They didn’t bother to respond, both turning and jogging away. “Get into…” Blood exploded from one of the men as an arc blast tore open his chest. His companion leapt behind what remained of a metal shipping container, the truck that had transported it laying a dozen feet away where it had landed after experiencing some sort of explosion. Petriesen ran into the shell of a gas station shop, cursing as he hit a shelving rack, bruising his hip and sending him crashing to the floor. He peered out of the space where sliding doors would have stood and gestured frantically. “Get out of there!” The other man clutched his knife, his only weapon and closed his eyes as the metal he hid behind reverberated with arc rifle rounds. “RUN MAN!” The other man opened his eyes and nodded. An arc grenade landed at his feet. His eyes grew wide and he turned to stare at Petriesen. “Shit!” Petriesen shouted and turned away as it exploded. He didn’t bother looking back, he knew what he would see. Picking himself up he ran through what remained of the building and out of the other side. Legs pumping and arms swinging Petriesen kept running, the howls of the Fallen following close behind.