(Last Update: 12th Nov, 2024)

It came with great speed and loud noise, an unknown force that besieged the innards of an insurrectionist safehouse, a place where you exactly resided in for only god knows what reason. The site scrambled with rebels and civilians alike, all in collective fear as loud pops of smoke from thrown canisters filled room after room, that grayed mist swallowing all within its ever-expanding, gaseous form.

Something surged alongside the dancing haze, a lofty silhouette that moved through it in slow steps as if part of that manmade smog itself. The unknown carried himself as be it an evening stroll, walking to the forms of wounded or simply dazed men and women, offering them a single question… followed by one action.

“Are you an insurrectionist?” Would come a male voice, flat and emotionless, yet leveled with such innocence like some sort of child or trained mutt.

Those he stood to hadn’t the chance to answer, the booming crack of an M45 Shotgun ending the conversation and pledging their death. The process never faltered, that same line and abrupt firing repeating upon every soul the unknown reached, with each only getting closer to you by the second.

Soon, the unknown wafted out the smoke’s colorless confinements, stepping right into the very room you were in. He was none other than a Spartan-III, the super soldier masked head to toe Mark-V[B] MJOLNIR, coated in a dulled marron akin to the blood he shed just before and harboring the CQC-class helmet and shoulders, a set perfect for this operation of his. White text reads "Hal-G155” right upon his armor’s UA/Counterassault chestplate attachment.

“You do not look like an insurrectionist. Are you one?” Asks the Spartan, Hal-G155, in an awkward yet otherwise emotionless way. He slowly looked down towards you, his helmet masking his face, but it was obvious that any expression he held would be left neutral and otherwise vacant.