Haunted: A halo story

Community General Discussion
1

Hey, just wanted to get some feedback on my writing style. Hoping for ANY feedback, good or bad, Thanks!

Haunted
No further action is necessary, Corporal.
Corporal Mendoza turned to the pilot console, his face a mask of distain.
“Well, isn’t that great. Thank you for that Athena.”
He practically spat the words.
The small transport drifted through the black of space, silent as a wraith. From within, the crew watched mutely the billion points of starlight outside the cramped observation blister. They shone cold, distant, implacable. Inside, the darkness was broken only by the intermittent pulse of the emergency lighting, bathing the cramped interior a lurid red. Below the craft lay the massive gas giant, Epsilon Eridani B. Their destination.
We have run critically low on Delta V, corporal. My calculations show that there are no available actions for us to take, as of present, Droned the synthesized voice of the ship’s AI.
“Delta V”? Miller intoned from the back.
Delta V, Private Miller, is the Change…
“Change of velocity” snapped the co pilot, a small waif of a girl barely out of her teens. Everybody was pushed to the razor’s edge. Beyond the edge, really. They were alone. Drifting in the black, far beyond the aid of command, with only their worries and the fleeting starlight to keep them company. That was the point, after all.
Miller persisted, somewhat sheepishly. “Maam, I still don’t get it. Change of velocity? How can we…?” he trailed off, sensing the futility of his inquisition.
"Fuel, Miller. It means fuel. And we have none of it left. "
Mendoza turned once again to the ship’s AI. She had now decided to display herself as a slight, silver figure, sitting cross legged atop the nav console.
“Define Critically low.”
Athena hesitated a fraction of a second before replying. To a mind as limitless as a UNSC AI, the hesitation was an eternity.
I have run through all of the algorithms in my database. In conclusion, I…
“Alright! Can we turn the transport around?” Asked Mendoza, peevishly.
To put it simply, Corporal, no, we cannot turn the craft around. All that would accomplish would be a drastic change in our present course. Either the craft would be pulled into the gravity well of the body below us, or it would simply be pushed further away from our destination.
“And I assume we can’t stop…” Mendoza huffed audibly. “This transport runs on fusion, doesn’t it? How the hell can we be out of Del… Gas?!”
There seems to ba a malfunction somewhere…
“Of course there is a malfunction, you worthless pile of chips! The question was rhetorical.”
Seething, Mendoza approached the console.
“Sturgis. Open the maintenance hatch, and grab the drill.” He stared out of the small view port in front of the nav console, studying the billions of stars that stared back at him. So many of them…
he searched for a small point of light different from the rest.
“Still too far”, he muttered to nobody in particular.
“Sir? Got a plan?”
“Of course I don’t have a plan. I have an idea.”
A grim smile crept over his face as he assessed the AI, now laying atop a glaring red console light. “How do you suppose we pry her out of this wreck?”

Fifteen minutes later, seven pressure suited figures stood silhouetted against the open cargo bay door, nothing separating them from oblivion except an invisible, and ever present storm of hard radiation. Each man and woman donned a bulky EVA thruster pack strapped ungainfuly to their backs. Though they added no additional weight in vaccuum, the laws of inertia still held true. Every movement, every step sent the ungainly hulks lumbering into one another under the unfamiliar mass of the thrusters.
less than ten minutes until we pass your desired point of exfiltration, corporal. Though I still do not agree with your plan. A peevish expression crossed the AI’s features. Or with your barbaric method of extracting me from the navigation console.
Mendoza grinned at the memory.
“Duely noted, Athena.”
“Look, there!” Shouted Cruz.
Aft, in the extreme distance, a small pinpoint of light stood out from the stars surrounding it. And it was approaching. Fast.
“Athena. Did you slow us down?”
I have managed to slow our approach forty three per cent, and have changed our course three hundreths of a degree to port, so as not to impact the station.
“Forty three per cent. And just how slow is that?” He asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.
Approximately six hundred fifty three kilometers per hour.
" Perfect." He turned to the five suited figures beside him. “We’re gonna need to be -Yoink!- accurate,” he said to himself as much as any of the others.
"Alright. We are moving -Yoink!- fast and we need to hit a target well over a thousand kliks away.These cans are made for exterior repairs. They are not made for any of the things we are about to use them for now. The packs are fully juiced, but it’s going to burn up fast trying to slow us down.
“We have enough to slow down, don’t we?” he asked the AI.
My calculations show that it is possible to slow to a complete halt. Plus or minus, accounting for interferences, she added as an afterthought.
Mendoza grinned ruefully. “Plus or minus what”?
My calculations show a variance of plus or minus eighty six kilometers per hour.
“Perfect” He said again. “We hit that station at eighty six kliks, we might as well be going six hundred… How long?”
Six minutes forty five seconds until desired extraction.

2

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, when the lady counts to zero, you jump. No exceptions. You jump late, you miss the rendezvous. You jump early, guess what? You miss the rendezvous. It’s a cold universe out there, and if you intend not to be aquainted with it, you jump.”
Not a word was said. Terror hung over each of them like a dark cloud. At last, Mendoza broke the silence.
“Sturgis, you have the comms unit?”
“Yessir”, replied the lanky private. “All wrapped up pretty.”
Mendoza surveyed the Comms unit that Sturgis held aloft. It was neither wrapped up, nor was it in the least bit pretty. It was a tangled wreck of wires, circuit boards and broken casing, it’s power supply feebly winking amber.
“Looks like it chewed it’s way straight out of hell, Sturg. Why the hell do we need it anyway? Station’s gotta have a comms unit better than that pile. It is supposed to be a communications outpost.”
“Sir, station’s gotta have planty of 'em better than this.” He said, patting the unit affectionately. “Problem’s we gotta reach command, and they’re secured. Code’s built into this unit, not the station’s. Only way we’re getting through to them is with our girl here.”
“Good enough, Sturg.” Mendoza shook his head slowly. “And would you please refrain from personifying that pile of bolts?”
Sturgis grinned. “Yessir.”
Extraction in five minutes, corporal.

3

…And one more, with a little action.

Ethan heard the locking mechanism of his visor click home just as the bolt of plasma slammed into the bulkhead behind him, cutting a wide, glowering swath through the steel. His heart thundered as he heard the hiss of molten alloy spitting against the cold grating underfoot. The air reeked of ozone. Warning alarms blared in his ears, his shield displays flashing wildly.
Semi Powered Infiltration Armor, he thought ruefully to himself. Well, they sure as hell got the semi powered part of it right. The bolt hadn’t even grazed him and his shields were null. He peeked his head just far enough to survey his surroundings. Nothing. Returning to the relative cover of the small shipping crate, he lay perfectly still, hoping against hope that his shields would recharge. Soon.
Things could have been worse, he reflected. Twenty minutes ago, the halls of this place were crawling with Covenant. Jackals and grunts at first, but then came the heavy hitters. Most notably the brutes. He could smell them before he actually saw them. They had a savage smell about them, their breath fetid and rank.
Some never questioned providence. Ethan always questioned providence. Which, incidentally, was why his mind had been buzzing non stop for the last five minutes.
From a small breach in a maintenance panel, he watched as the indomitable waves of Covenant scoured the deserted halls, for what? Life, more than likely. Something to find, to kill. Something to extinguish. And then, nothing. One minute they were there, and the next, they had gone. He watched silently as at first grunts and jackals, then the brutes bagan to walk and then run to their boarding craft, crashing into one another like so many dominos.
He couldn’t be positive how many of them were left behind, but he felt sure that there was but a fraction of whole remaining. At least something had worked in his favor.
Harvest happened less than a month ago, but Ethan knew more than he cared to about the Covenant. In less than a month’s time, this blight had spread like a cancer throughout the many human colonies. In less than a month’s time, humanity had become their prey.
This was not a war, it never was. This was a struggle. A biting, clawing, scrapping campaign of a terror more immense than any man alive had yet felt. It was never a question of who would win, but of when we would lose. For the first time in our history, humanity didn’t stand a chance.
Every encounter bore deplorable figures. one hundred to one, one thousand to one. Ten thousand to one. Ethan tried to envision such numbers. Ten thousand human soldiers dead for every one of them. Whether it was the horror of the numbers, or simply the numbers themselves, he couldn’t be sure, but he found that he simply couldn’t fit a mental image to the cold facts.
It was probably for the better. Definitely for the better, he decided.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, the brass had told him. Make contact with Station Gamma, give a quick SITREP. Leave. Avoid any unnecessary contact, they had said.
A simple mission.
Why was it always the simple missions that seemed to land Spartans MIA, or worse? He knew the answer, even before he had formed the question. For a Spartan, there were no simple missions. If it were a simple mission, they wouldn’t need a Spartan.
Aside from being a not-so-simple mission, it was, in Ethan’s mind, a ridiculous one. Four days prior, Gamma Station, a small communications outpost in an eliptical orbit around the gas giant Epsilon Eridani B, started broadcasting strange things. At first it was nothing out of the ordinary. Static, ghosting. The usual interference. At first, brass attributed it to ionospheric storms above the gas giant.
UNSC brass had hailed the station numerous times, to no avail. Gamma Station had a constant, skeleton crew of fifteen men at any given time, though the outpost could hold well over a hundred. Static or no, Somebody should have answered their calls.
And then came the other transmitions. It was a communications technition aboard a passing UNSC cruiser that had discovered the first of these messages, buried deeply in the static.
“This place is a tomb.”
“Death hath been sowed. We are her blossoms.”
Voice print analysis verified that the voice belonged to Dr. Stanley young, director of operations aboard Gamma Station. But the speech was stilted, broken, as if pieces of pre recorded speech had been pasted together to form a horrifying collage.
This was also verified.
Before long, the word haunted was being thrown around. And then, nothing.
As if an invisible switch had been flipped, the voices, the static, even the steady hum of Gamma Station’s life support read outs were null. Gamma Station was officially deserted. A derelect.
And then began the screams.

His musings were broken by the most satisfying sound he had ever heard. A faint, electric hum filled the interior of his armor, coupled with a crackling, static charge. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His shields were charged, at last.
And then another sound. A sound that filled him with a new terror. A sound more alien, more ghastly than any he had ever heard facing the Covenant. A deathly wail rent the silence of the cargo bay. It was a tormented wail. Too hideous even for a Brute. Yet at the same time, it did bear some similarity to a Brute. It was a banshee wail; it sounded like death Himself.
Ethan held his assault rifle with a white knuckled grip. With a deep, shuddering breath, he moved to face his enemy.

4

Oh, and forgive the typos. Also, the forums played hell with fonts and accents. Really, they handled the wall of text better than I had hoped they would though.

5

Nice work It was a good read :slight_smile: more ? :wink:

6

> Nice work It was a good read :slight_smile: more ? :wink:

Thanks! And yes, there is more. I am very nearly done with the story now. Working a lot of 13 and a half hour days lately… I’ll try to post more soon :slight_smile:

7

Really good. I dont know how people like you are able to write like this. If I tried I would end up with the most boring read ever. I guess it takes a special skill :slight_smile:

8

Wow, thanks so much! I wish I could say that writing comes easily to me, but it would be a huge lie! It is a ton of fun though.

9

Ah, Finally remembered to post another tidbit of the story. Enjoy, and as always, if you have any comments or critiques, let me have them!

Mendoza gripped the side of Cruz’s helmet. “I want a small charge, you got that?”
Cruz smiled innocuously at the Corporal. “Of course, sir. Why do you have to say it like that?”
Despite himself, Mendoza grinned. Try as he might, he loved the unlikely group he commanded. “Because, recruit, I have seen you in action, if you recall. And, if you do recall, you nearly got half the platoon killed. myself included”, he added, grinning wider.
Cruz waved his hand dismissively. “That? Aw, that was nothin’ Corp.” Cruz flashed a grin to match his CO’s. “I got a flare for the dramatic, is all.”
He hesitated, frowning with thought. “Why do we need a charge at all? Didn’t the ship say she changed our course?”
Mendoza shook his head. “The ship didn’t say anything. Athena claims that she did, but there’s a saying, recruit. There are old soldiers, and there are bold soldiers. And they’re rarely the same people.”
He patted the small case holding Athena. “Pretty as she is, I’d rather not hand all of our lives over to this heap of circuits. I intend to make it to Gamma station in one piece, and I for sure as hell don’t want a Pelican-sized hole in her when we get there.”
Mendoza searched Cruz’ visor, but his features were lost behind the polarization. “You alright, soldier?” he asked, all traces of humor now gone.
Cruz shook his head slowly, his visor locked onto his shifting feet. “Hell no, sir.” His eyes met Mendoza’s. “I’ll get it done.”
“Good man. You go EVA, and place the charge. No sense coming back aboard. If you did keep the charge small, Hang on to something, and that should be enough. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Sir.”
And with that Cruz turned and stepped into nothing.
Four minutes to extraction.
All aboard were silent; lost in thoughts of the events to come. Some thought of Family, of life back home. Others of the present, the here and now. Mendoza thought of his crew.
Three minutes thirty…
“Athena”, Mendoza pleaded, his tone surprisingly soft. “Just let us know when we reach thirty seconds.”
At once warning alarms screamed. Amber lights flashed brightly as the cargo hatch slammed shut with an audible clang. Inside, the lighting was dangerously low. Emergency lighting, Mendoza remembered.
“Athena! What the hell just happened?!”
The odds of successfully navigating to Gamma station are one in one hundred fifty billion, give or take…
Mendoza held the small case containing the AI aloft, the visor of his helmet centimeters away from it’s surface. The AI no longer displayed herself in any form. She was now a disembodied voice, and a feeble one at that. “What are you saying?” His voice was dangerously low.
Sir the odds… You never would have made it.
She didn’t need to go on. It was clear what the AI had done.
“Open the hatch. Now.”
Sir… There is a recycle time of no less than ten minutes. It is hardwired into the system. Even I cannot override it.
Mendoza was silent.
Sir, I did it for the crew… I did it for you. I am sorry, Mend…
“Sturgis!”, Mendoza bellowed, his eyes fixated on the small case in front of him. “Turn this off.”

10

Gah! you have to stop leaving them at cliffhangers! I cant stand it anymore!

11

> Gah! you have to stop leaving them at cliffhangers! I cant stand it anymore!

Heh, sorry about that :smiley: So far I am posting the story as I have written it. It is really almost done now. Just have to write the conclusion (Which I have been eagerly waiting for), and polish/repair any plot holes.
The story actually follows two main plots and one tertiary plot (very small, but important to the story), so I feel a little like a juggler. In this case, right before I juggle to another plot, I light my balls on fire… WOW! It would be so easy to edit this post and make that sound much less dirty, but that is just too good to edit away!

12

I literally cringed when I read a certain part of a certain post…

But Im looking forward to the rest of the story :slight_smile:

13

Just a short excerpt today. I am loathe to even post it, as it has not been polished AT ALL, but what the heck? Anyway, here is the next installment in the story…

Forty seven and a half hours prior:

Ethan edged out from behind the steel crate, his pulse thundering in his ears. The howling had ceased, replaced with a silence that was somehow worse than the sound. The air surrounding him seemed clouded, distorted. Instinctively, Ethan raised the visor of his helmet. Instantly, he wished he hadn’t. The air was filled with a yellow-brown haze, and the smell… It was sweet, musty. It was by no means putrid, but it screamed of decay, nevertheless. He slammed shut his visor, feeling bile burning in his throat.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. Without hesitation, he fired. The movement ceased. He searched the lifeless shape in front of him. It was a mess of flesh and steel and blood. It was the Brute. Slowly, he moved into the open, measureably more relaxed, but alert nevertheless.
The feet became massive legs, sheathed in a plated armor. Wherever there were joints, wicked spikes jutted forth. The torso looked much the same, it’s plating cast a slight blue in the steril lighting of the station. And the face…
Ethan’s breath caught as he noticed the massive head of the Brute. He felt sick, and more frightened than he had ever remembered feeling before. It was beyond the fear of death. It was an all encompasing horror, the thing of nightmares.
Wherever the matted fur did not cover, the flesh of the Brute was a sickly, yellow palor.
Ethan threw the visor open again, unable to hold back the bile any longer.
There was something attached to the neck of the beast. Something beyond anything Ethan had ever witnessed. And it was moving. It writhed and undulated wildly. At it’s base were dozens of spindly legs, glittering darkly in the flat overhead lighting. The brunt of it’s mass was a throbbing, engorged sac, the same sickly pallor as the Brute’s skin. As it fed, tiny yellow-brown spores floated out of it’s back, polluting the air further.

There has been a containment breach in Bion Alpha

Ethan snapped up, his assault rifle sweeping the perimiter of the cargo bay wildly.
“Stand down!” he shouted, trying desperately to control his fear.

Level fifty four battle skins must be worn as per containment protocol. Sentient beings must evacuate Bion Alpha. If Infection spreads, sentient host is to be forfeit as per containment… Spartan. Reclaimer number zero nine six UNSC AI serial number four oh one nine two…
Ethan. There has been a containment breach. You must evacuate the cargo bay at once.

The voice speaking to him sounded strange, alien. It was gravelly; pitched both low and high at once. Moreover, it had a distinctly synthesized quality about it. He felt sure that it was an AI, yet at the same time… It didn’t sound like any AI he had ever heard before.
Ethan shuddered as he lowered his assault rifle. A realization had just struck home. The voice was coming from inside his armor.

14

Alright, here is another. I lied. As with the prior post, this section is yet to be polished, so I apologize if it lacks grace. Enjoy!

“Sir! What the hell happened?!” Bellowed Cruz.
Through the ship’s intercom, Cruz’s voice came through thin, staticy.
Briefly, mendoza informed him of the situation. “Not sure when we’ll be able to open the hatch, either. Athena was a little fuzzy on that point,” he added, glowering at the small case that housed the AI. “So, for a while, I want you to go on radio silence. Conserve your power supply as much as you can.”
Mendoza paused, watching Cruz’s vitals scroll across the minature display. “You alright?”
“Hell no, sir”, repeated Cruz sullenly.
“Nothing to worry about, soldier,” assured Mendoza. “That power supply’s probably got more juice than this whole -Yoink!- boat.”
Nothing to worry about, he repeated to himself, after he had clicked to comms unit off. He wished he believed it himself. Slowly, he turned to his crew.
Mendoza checked the ship’s display. There goes our extraction.
“That’s it then.”
It was the first time any of Mendoza’s troops had ever seen him beaten.
“Sir,” came a voice from the piolt’s seat. “We may not be humped just yet.”
The pilot was a thickly set man with a week’s worth of stubble lining his chin. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak, he usually had something to say. Mendoza smiled thinly, unwilling to let himself feel anything close to hope.
“Let’s hear it, Dooley.”
“It’s a long shot, sir, but at this point… Well, may be worth a try, at any rate.”
Mendoza gestured for him to continue, so he went on, “We’ve been missing something that has been right under our noses this whole time”, he said, indicating the Pelican’s viewport.
Mendoza, and a few of the others clustered around the pilot’s chair. Outside of the port, the massive curve of Epsilon B stretched glaringly below them. Stars, Gamma Station, everything else was eclipsed in it’s brilliance.
“Can’t see much of anything beyond that glare, sir,” observed Miller.
“Ditto,” replied Mendoza. He looked at the co pilot questioningly. She was laughing hysterically.
“Crazy S.O.B.” She said, facing the pilot.
“Anybody mind telling me what the hell is going on?” snapped Mendoza peevishly.
“Well, sir…” Mendoza noticed that his normally stoic features were beginning to show traces of a smile. This plan must be -Yoink!- crazy, he thought to himself.
“It’s a big world down there. Why not use it to slow us down?”
Mendoza was right. “You mean fly into, what, atmo?”
“Not into atmo, sir” answered the pilot, grinning at Mendoza’s use of pilot jargon. “Just graze the gravity well a little. We can coast in and out of it, use it to slow us down.” He hesitated a fraction of a second. “Maybe skim her atmo a little.” He smiled weakly. “No different than skiing.”
Mendoza shook his head. “You think we have a shot?”
The pilot simply shrugged. “You think we have a choice?”

Thirty minutes later they were barrling toward the gibbous, cloud-streaked world below them.
“Sturgis, how’s she coming?”
“Just. About…” Sturgis tinkered with the small case a little more. “Got her!”
“Give her here, Sturg.” He looked the case over, a scowl darkening his features. “Alright, show that pretty face of yours.”
After a couple of heartbeats, an elfin, silver figure emerged from the case. Athena. She looked morose, to say the least.
If Mendoza took any notice of this fact, he gave no sign of it.
“Listen. You got us into a whole heap of trouble back there. But our pilot here came up with a plan. A plan that you missed,” he added triumphantly.
He proceeded to brief the AI on Dooley’s plan.
It could work, the AI concluded. Possibly. Too low, and you’ll never get back out of the gravity well. Too high…
“We’ll miss our mark. We know.” He patted the small case. “That,” he said, indicating the AI with an outstretched finger, “is why we need you.”
It is a solid plan, Corporal, the AI replied simply.
“It is. You try anything, I’ll send you starside quicker than you can count to ten.” He looked at Athena, his eyes glittering madly. “You got that?”
The AI simply nodded, her eyes downcast. As Mendoza turned to the cockpit, he could have sworn he heard the AI sob.

15

“Entering atmo in five, sir!” shouted the pilot.
Mendoza looked doubtfully through the view port. And saw nothing. The view was a yellow-orange mess. Atmo. “Five minutes?” he shouted.
As the words left his lips, he was thrown violently into the port bulkhead. He scrambled for a seat, nursing his shoulder.
“Sorry bout that, Corporal. Didn’t know you weren’t strapped in”, replied the co pilot brightly.
Mendoza cursed. “The two of you are lucky that I am”.
The next three minutes seemed to have taken an eternity. All aboard held onto whatever they could with a white knuckled intensity as they plummeted through the worst turbulence any aboard had ever experienced. Dooley included. On top of that, they were now well within the gravity well, a crushing two and a half Gs, at the top of the cloud deck. Earthside, it would have been a lot to endure. After thirty six hours in micro gravity, it was devastating.
The view port turned from a pale yellow-orange to an angry red. Beyond the glowering haze, clouds whipped past with impossible speed. The interior of the Pelican became palpably hotter. Steel groaned as the heat of their descent took hold.
I suggest you pull up, urged Athena tightly.
“Too soon”, muttered Dooley to himself as much as the AI.
There was a resounding pop from somewhere just below their feet. They could hear the hull twisting, creaking in it’s dying throes.
With a pained effort, Mendoza turned his head away from the view port.
Pull up! shouted Athena.
The groaning of steel was lost behind the deafening howl of the engines, stressed beyond design capacity ten-fold. They could feel the iron grip of Epsilon B’s merciless hand crushing them all.
“Pull. Up!” ordered Mendoza.
“…Sir.” Croaked Dooley weakly.
At once the craft lurched upward, crushing Mendoza and the squad further into their seats. It was agonizing. With every creak of the hull, they could feel it in their bones. Lungs squeezed shut under the weight. Breathing became a cruel joke. The hull began to vibrate wildly. Even Dooley knew that it could break up at any minute. Any second now…
And then it all vanished. In an instant they were weightless again, the gaudy orange cloud deck replaced with the blackness of infinity once again.
“Everybody alright?” Mendoza asked. There was a stench of urine in the cramped cargo bay. Mendoza surveyed his soldiers. Shaky nods of ascent answered his question. Nobody, save Mendoza himself trusted their voice to speak.
“Alright. Dooley, good flying. How much did we lose?”
Dooley pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Gauges read just over five hundred kliks, sir.” He grinned massively. “We lost one hundred fifty kliks.”
Mendoza didn’t feel quite as elated. Four more trips into that soup, he thought bitterly.
“Alright. We let the bird cool down, and we do it again” Mendoza said. He tried to say the words encouragingly, but the scowl on his face belied his words.
“Hang on a sec, sir”, interrupted Dooley. “Got something heading this way. Looks like a beacon. Or maybe…” His eyes widened briefly. “It’s a data capsule, sir. And it’s got ONI written all over it.”

16

Another cliffhanger?! Grrrr… :slight_smile:

17

I know, I know… At least I posted a couple of segments : ) I was going to leave it at just the one, and then remembered your comment about the cliffhangers. Really, the second just left it at a bigger cliffhanger though… Heh, my bad on that one, I suppose!

18

Very nice :slight_smile:

I wrote a Halo fan fic that was about 1450 words long, but then my computer crashed and I lost it all :<

19

> Very nice :slight_smile:
>
> I wrote a Halo fan fic that was about 1450 words long, but then my computer crashed and I lost it all :<

My god… At that point, I would really debate whether I would even try to rewrite… 1400 is a lot of work. That is actually one of my biggest fears when writing anything. I guess that is one big pitfall when it comes to not writing long-hand.

20

> Very nice :slight_smile:
>
> I wrote a Halo fan fic that was about 1450 words long, but then my computer crashed and I lost it all :<

I know that recent versions of Word save automatically (as I’m sure other programs these days do). It’s saved me from pulling my hair out on many occasions! :slight_smile: