I am the latest to this, orz. But it called to me, so here is a response from a Different Anon! ---------
“And all the leaves on the trees are falling//To the sound of the breezes that blow…”
The music was turned down low in his helmet, barely noticed as he dozed. He’d needed a little peace and quiet away from the base, and had found a roof in Residential 5 that he could access easily via fire escape. The sun was warm on his armor, but not so much that the temperature control in his suit kicked in hard. All in all, a pleasant day. And a perfect place for a nap.
So he’d settled his back against the lip of the roof, stretched out, arms curled around his submachine gun, and drifted off. It was only in shorts bursts – typical, really – but he stayed dead-still no matter if he was asleep or not.
“And when you come my heart will be waiting//To make sure you’re never alone…”
Something slammed into his legs and he was awake and pulling up his gun long before he saw what had run into him. Almost before it even hit the ground. Back in some long-gone and so distant theater of war with him having to play dead to escape and some stupid Grunt tripping over his shins and there goes his cover. It takes noticing that the figure is human before he lowers the SMG. Don’t shoot humans. Never again. Not after…
He shakes his head slightly and shuts off the music without a second thought, making an effort to recall where he is. Not some hellhole crawling with Covenant. Sacrosanct. The station. Only one Covvie here and he’s keeping the peace like the Arbiter before him. Sort of.
The man that ran over him is dressed in sleek black armor that doesn’t look nearly effective enough for combat, cut with lines of brilliant white light. Ah, yes. Programs. He recalls them mostly from that debacle in Zone 7. The specter of Yevgenny whispering in his ear Red is dead, just like the VISR before launching into some tirade about convergence and the spiral rock he could see if he squeezed his eyes shut just a little too hard.
But he recognized this one from the network. Quiet one, talked even less than he did. Used blue text. Weird for a guy in black and white. What was his name…? Ah, whatever. He shifted slightly to poke the Program with a toe. It seemed to startle him and he twitched, flipping over to look at him. Helmet meet helmet.
He shifted again, looking the black-clad figure over from head to toe and nodding his chin. ‘You okay?’ The Program nodded, dipping his head in apology. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’ He waved it off. Nothing to worry about.
Didn’t most of these programs live together in this district? Some penthouse high rise place. This guy probably roof-hopped a lot, then. Hard to anticipate some leggy Marine would pick one to sleep on, then. Though he had to wonder what this program would be doing on a roof in the first pl-
Wait, he’d caught sight of him at the prom. He’d been working on a pleasant buzz and trying too hard to pretend to ignore O’Brien – he kept saying the rejected invitation hadn’t mattered but dammit it did – when he’d caught sight of some flash of white running up a wall and dashing out. This is one of those wallrunning roof-jumping ones like Rinzler, isn’t it? The phrase ‘System Monitor’ popped to mind unbidden. That was right, wasn’t it? System Monitor Something-Or-Other.
Moondance 1/2
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“And all the leaves on the trees are falling//To the sound of the breezes that blow…”
The music was turned down low in his helmet, barely noticed as he dozed. He’d needed a little peace and quiet away from the base, and had found a roof in Residential 5 that he could access easily via fire escape. The sun was warm on his armor, but not so much that the temperature control in his suit kicked in hard. All in all, a pleasant day. And a perfect place for a nap.
So he’d settled his back against the lip of the roof, stretched out, arms curled around his submachine gun, and drifted off. It was only in shorts bursts – typical, really – but he stayed dead-still no matter if he was asleep or not.
“And when you come my heart will be waiting//To make sure you’re never alone…”
Something slammed into his legs and he was awake and pulling up his gun long before he saw what had run into him. Almost before it even hit the ground. Back in some long-gone and so distant theater of war with him having to play dead to escape and some stupid Grunt tripping over his shins and there goes his cover. It takes noticing that the figure is human before he lowers the SMG. Don’t shoot humans. Never again. Not after…
He shakes his head slightly and shuts off the music without a second thought, making an effort to recall where he is. Not some hellhole crawling with Covenant. Sacrosanct. The station. Only one Covvie here and he’s keeping the peace like the Arbiter before him. Sort of.
The man that ran over him is dressed in sleek black armor that doesn’t look nearly effective enough for combat, cut with lines of brilliant white light. Ah, yes. Programs. He recalls them mostly from that debacle in Zone 7. The specter of Yevgenny whispering in his ear Red is dead, just like the VISR before launching into some tirade about convergence and the spiral rock he could see if he squeezed his eyes shut just a little too hard.
But he recognized this one from the network. Quiet one, talked even less than he did. Used blue text. Weird for a guy in black and white. What was his name…? Ah, whatever. He shifted slightly to poke the Program with a toe. It seemed to startle him and he twitched, flipping over to look at him. Helmet meet helmet.
He shifted again, looking the black-clad figure over from head to toe and nodding his chin. ‘You okay?’ The Program nodded, dipping his head in apology. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’ He waved it off. Nothing to worry about.
Didn’t most of these programs live together in this district? Some penthouse high rise place. This guy probably roof-hopped a lot, then. Hard to anticipate some leggy Marine would pick one to sleep on, then. Though he had to wonder what this program would be doing on a roof in the first pl-
Wait, he’d caught sight of him at the prom. He’d been working on a pleasant buzz and trying too hard to pretend to ignore O’Brien – he kept saying the rejected invitation hadn’t mattered but dammit it did – when he’d caught sight of some flash of white running up a wall and dashing out. This is one of those wallrunning roof-jumping ones like Rinzler, isn’t it? The phrase ‘System Monitor’ popped to mind unbidden. That was right, wasn’t it? System Monitor Something-Or-Other.