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Sargent Major Avery Johnson sighed as he looked down on a legend. Master Chief, SPARTAN-117, lay in a crater before him, armor locked from the impact of a 2 kilometer drop off of a Covenant-Forerunner Ship into the deep African jungle.
The black under armor on his torso was ripped on the left side, dry blood caked around its edges. His right shoulder had a 6 inch piece of wood lodged between the shoulder and chest plates.
“Foreman?” he addressed the man kneeling next to him with a handheld computer linked to the MIJOLNIR armor’s interface, reading a real-time schematic of the armor and the man inside.
“His armors locked up, gel layer could have taken most of the impact” the corporal said with a frown.
Johnson knelt down and removed the AI core from the base of the Spartan’s neck, only to find it empty.
Cortana’s not here, he thought.
“That’s odd..” Foreman said under his breath.
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