The lone spartan sighed internally, letting his head roll back into the stone wall that he rested against as he sat, waiting. He’d been there for hours now, on the side of a low ruined wall opposite that of a lone, long and very untraveled strip of dirt that served as a discreet highway. It wasn’t an uncommon feature of the terrain among these backwater colonies, but instead an intentional design choice by the population, as they seemed to enjoy the feeling of seclusion and isolation that was very well implied when travelling the road, flanked on either side by dark thickets of trees that left little in the way of scenery. It did serve to give the armor-clad man ample cover from all sides save the wall, which was conveniently high enough to hide the spartan in a sitting position.
His eyes slowly lolled, eyeing over the same cluster of trees that had been in his vision this entire time and tried to shuffle, only to be met with the harsh grinding of metal on stone as his back met friction. He shifted back and elected to not move again. As much as it hardly mattered this far out, doing anything that could reveal him in his kit this far into what was labeled ‘rebel-occupied space’ by the brass that commissioned this operation was a risk that needed to go without being taken. It was harsh enough, operating alone and having to avoid the small towns and excuses for living centers to keep from arousing suspicion, but there was an unshakeable sense of inherent danger ingrained in the very land of the planet, it seemed. Almost as though any one mistake during this mission would result in the worst outcome he could think of.
Slowly, he noticed, a small caterpillar began to clamber over his plated knee, crawling from the abundant leafy vegetation he sat on as it ventured onto this strange alien object that had taken up residence over its food.
“Sorry. Seems I’m just invading everyone’s territory today,” he mumbled aloud, though that was one factor he had no reservation over - his helmet contained every trace of sound, so long as he wanted it that way. He could speak as freely as he wished, and the one point of confidence he had about being here - anywhere he tended to operate, really - was his ability to remark about anything vocally.
He did that often, these days.
Though, to be technical, he wasn’t quite ‘invading,’ as the word implied that the territory wasn’t free for him to pass on. The planet was under UNSC jurisdiction in every right, and despite whatever ‘insurrectionist’ decided cropping up and showing his middle finger to the watchful eye of ONI and the UEG, the government clearly outlined that the boundaries this quite beautiful piece of rock orbited through was obviously UNSC space. That branded the Innies the invaders, no matter how long they had been here and in spite of the hostile nature that the small pockets of civilization had managed to sew throughout the populace. All because of this Darnald fellow, who was in all rights and fashions a very skilled talker, but what he was attempting was beyond him and very, very treasonous.
Even so, here the spartan was, planetside and cooped up under a low wall as he rested and recounted the past month of prying, dead drops, espionage and plotting, all while making the fullest effort he could to make sure this would-be rebel leader never caught a peep of trouble in his proclaimed “Free Land.”
The spartan was so lost in thought, he was surprised when a sudden jolt back to reality had his internal speakers rumbling with the telltale signs of an all-terrain vehicle, one whose buzzing engine could never be forgotten by those who served around it long enough. The warthog was roaring down the solitary road, no care for a leisurely pace it seemed, and the spartan brushed aside his little herbivorous friend as he sat rigidly, listening.
“Well, at least it was at some point today. Slow b*stard.”
The warthog’s noise reached a peak level as it neared, passing just beyond the other side of the wall and–
was immediately drowned out with the horrendous sound of grounded thunder, shearing steel and roaring flames as the warthog drove straight over a line of anti-vehicle landmines planted carefully under a layer of dirt in the road, and in an instant was transformed into a ball of hellish flame and smoke that left no chance for the passengers’ survival.
The spartan drew his legs back, pushed himself up and looked over the wall to analyze the carnage.
The spartan, the Headhunter, smiled beneath his matte visor. Mister Darnald would not have to worry about his Free Land anymore.