It was August 30th, 2552. You were a spartan, one of the last humans still standing on Reach. The situation seemed hopeless and the Covenant felt unstoppable.

You were in a small structure that was barely standing, hearing nothing but the noises of banshees and phantoms in the skies, and the faint hum of Covenant cruisers glassing your surroundings. But then, you could hear heavy footsteps behind you. An elite had suddenly entered the building, his energy sword glowing brightly as he stood behind you.

“Turn, demon.”

The Arbiter’s voice rang out, his sharp, cold glare piercing down at the back of your helmet.