Capítulo 9: Did something just hit us?
Location: UNSC Forward Operating Base, Avenport, Virek
Date and Time: December 17, 2552 – 1900 Hours
Back at base, the noise of the battlefield is gone, replaced by the low hum of generators and the distant clatter of boots on metal flooring. The firefight at the industrial zone still echoes in my mind, each crack of gunfire and burst of adrenaline replaying over and over, like a reel stuck on repeat.
I lean against the edge of my bunk, my hands resting on my knees as I stare at the floor, trying to clear my head. But it doesn't work. I can still feel the weight of the rifle in my hands, the kick of the trigger as I took those shots.
Two men dead. Rebels, sure. But still people.
Across the room, Santiago paces, restless energy radiating off him like heat. His weapon is slung over his back, and his hands keep twitching like he needs to be doing something—anything—other than standing still.
"You good?" he asks, breaking the silence.
I shrug, not sure how to answer. I'm alive, sure, but I don't know if that qualifies as "good."
"Yeah," I say, even though the knot in my chest says otherwise.
The door to the barracks swings open, and Grayson steps in, his face set in that unreadable expression he always wears after a mission. Behind him, Doc Alvarez and O'Neill file in, quiet and tired.
"We got through today," Grayson says, his voice low but steady. "But this isn't over. We've got confirmation from command—URF activity is escalating. They're not just defending. They're organizing. And we need to be ready."
I feel the weight of his words settle over the room like a blanket. It's no surprise, but hearing it out loud makes it real. The URF isn't just a bunch of scattered rebels anymore. They're turning into an army, and we're standing in their way.
"First thing tomorrow, we're moving out again," Grayson continues. "We've been ordered to sweep another area outside the city—same drill. Find their stronghold, neutralize it."
The tension in the room thickens. I glance at Doc, who's sitting on the edge of her cot, rubbing her temples. She's been working non-stop since the firefight, patching up Frost and Dash. She looks worn out, but there's no time for rest.
Later that night, I find myself sitting outside the barracks, the cool night air washing over me as I try to clear my mind. The stars above are bright, but they feel distant, like they belong to another world. Here on Virek, everything feels heavier—darker.
The door creaks open behind me, and Doc steps out, her arms crossed over her chest. She's quiet for a moment, standing beside me before finally speaking.
"You're thinking too much," she says, her voice soft.
I chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "Can you blame me?"
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she leans against the wall, staring out at the night. "You did what you had to do out there, Kowalski. We all did."
"Yeah, but—" I stop, not sure how to put it into words. "It's different when it's people. When it's us."
Doc sighs, running a hand through her hair. "It's always going to be different when it's people. But that doesn't mean it's not necessary."
I want to believe her. I want to believe that what we're doing is right—that we're fighting for something that matters. But right now? It just feels like we're spinning our wheels, stuck in a fight that has no clear end.
The next morning, we're back in the transport, the hum of the engine rattling through the metal as we rumble out of base. I sit near the back, my rifle resting against my knee as I stare out the window. The landscape blurs by, but all I can think about is the firefight yesterday—and the one waiting for us today.
Grayson briefs us on the mission as we move out. "This area has seen heavy URF activity. We're sweeping for a possible command center. Be ready for anything."
Santiago cracks his knuckles, a smirk playing at his lips. "Bring it on."
I give him a small nod, but I can't shake the tension in my chest. The firefight yesterday felt like a turning point, like something inside me shifted. I don't know if it's fear or just the weight of what we're doing, but it's there, and it's not going away.
The transport stops, and we disembark, spreading out across the terrain as we move toward the target area. It's an old industrial park, much like the last one—crumbling buildings, rusting machinery, overgrown with weeds. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows over the ground.
We fan out, moving in pairs as we sweep the area. Grayson takes point with Santiago, while I move with O'Neill, my eyes scanning every shadow, every corner.
"Stay sharp," Grayson says over the comms. "We don't know what's waiting for us."
We move through the first building, clearing it room by room. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the soft click of our boots on the floor. My heart pounds in my chest, every nerve on edge as we push deeper into the complex.
Suddenly, a sharp crack of gunfire shatters the silence.
"Contact!" Grayson's voice cuts through the comms, and the world explodes into chaos.
I dive behind a stack of crates as bullets ricochet off the walls, my pulse spiking as I raise my rifle. The rebels are everywhere, darting between cover, their rifles flashing in the dim light.
"O'Neill, cover left!" I shout, my voice barely audible over the gunfire.
He moves into position, laying down suppressive fire as I take aim, squeezing off a few rounds. The rebel in my sights goes down, but more are coming. I can hear the shouts, the movement—this isn't just a skirmish. This is a full-blown ambush.
Grayson's voice crackles through the comms. "Pull back! We need to regroup!"
We move as one, falling back toward the entrance as the rebels press forward. Bullets zip past me, and I can feel the heat of the fight closing in, the air thick with dust and gunpowder.
Suddenly, O'Neill stumbles, his leg buckling beneath him as he goes down, clutching his thigh. Blood pools around his hand, and he grits his teeth, trying to keep the pain at bay.
"Damn it!" I dive toward him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into cover as the firefight rages around us.
"I'm fine," he grunts, though his face is pale. "Just a scratch."
Doc is already moving, sliding in beside us as she pulls out her med kit. "Stay still," she says, her voice calm but urgent. "Let me work."
I keep my rifle trained on the door, my heart pounding as I wait for the next wave. The rebels are still out there, and they're not letting up.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder