Shipmaster Tek would ascend to the sparse office overlooking the main mezzanine of Ms. Marquett's Secretive Lab Complex. The room was made of metal with little in the way of furniture or other luxuries and contained a long meeting desk with strange humanoid rolling metal chairs. There was an active holographic projector upon the table with some sort of rotating symbol. It looked like a spinning letter emboldened with the number '1.'

The Base AI Commander Pots intruded upon the moment in jest, "Surprise, I was lying about the hunting trophies," and then with a giggle, "The message was sent for you. It's a contract offer from our mutual employer. Just touch the hologram to activate it."

Curious, the Jackal mercenary ship captain did indeed touch the image and watched as a humorless version of Ms. Marquett appeared upon the table. Odd… the human industrialist always seemed to carry herself with a certain degree of eccentricity, but in this letter, she seemed so serious?

"Mr. Tek, I have another private contract offer for you to peacefully oversee an asset acquisition in the Procyon System. This is to say that you will be contracted out to oversee a purchase for me within UNSC Territory. I have a ship and 'human' personal ready to compliment the transaction. If you are interested reply with either yes or no to this message. Depending upon your eagerness for further pay either this contract will be voided and I will seek out another individual for the deal, or… further information will be provided. Note, current contract pay is $1.4 million credits, or your choice of precious metals from the Marquett family estate."

Tek stood there with an open beak that dared to hit the floor. One point four million credits, well… the human currency was worthless to him, but the ability to be paid in bullion was something that he really couldn't pass up. No matter the finer details of inter-species commerce, Platinum and gold were still valuable no matter the race. Greed got the better of the Jackal and he uttered, "Jah reeoh," in a squeaking squall. That was a yes, and the hologram smiled thinly in response.

"Excellent," said the courier message of Ms. Marquett, "I will have the funds prepared on my end, and the security detail prepared for the purchase. Four human agents are assigned to you for this task and do avoid causing them unwanted harm."

Tek nodded his head, and the human holographic message once more adorned its emotionless blandness before elaborating upon the key details, "The Procyon Underworld has acquired a very rare item from the Covenant War known as an ONI Holdout Drive, and it is something that I gravely need for our continued efforts. As such, once this item went up on the black market, I sent out a notice for the purchase… along with everyone else. This is to say that The Procyon Cabal is putting the Holdout Drive up for auction and I intend to outbid everyone."

The hologram took a shallow breath and then further elaborated, "The Holdout Drive is one of hundreds issued to UNSC Majors during the Siege of Earth towards the end of the war. This was when the Covenant Armada threatened to overwhelm humanity's last true bastion during our darkest hour. Each Holdout Drive contained a vast amount of security codes and floorplans for secretive ONI Facilities hidden around the earth. It was meant to aid our last stand during the war… but… after the conflict, they became serious security risks. Most were rounded up and the security codes were of course changed, but… this one slipped through the cracks. A lot UNSC military commanders died during the conflict so the loss of a Holdout Drive just disappearing during the final days of war isn't entirely improbable."

Then to the point, "You are to go with my human delegation to Procyon and confirm the legitimacy of the Holdout Drive. Afterward, you are to purchase it at auction from The Cabal. I don't care what it costs. Money… is not an issue here. We need this item if it's legit. That is all."

And then just like that the hologram disappeared leaving Shipmaster Tek alone within the chamber. The Jackal smiled to himself and prepared to leave for the hangars. So, he was to deal with human gangsters and thieves, acquire an asset, and just deliver it. How quaint. Something told the alien mercenary that this was going to be anything but that simple and easy for such matters ultimately had ways of complicating themselves.

….

The tip from Indigo Seven's Port Authority Office came late in the night as Ms. Marquett was exiting the shower with beads of water tracing down her form. The young raven-haired woman stepped out into the penthouse wearing a white bathrobe as her security detail started to adorn combat gear and traditional weapons to repeal a siege. She glared to the side as her butler Gillian dragged a large black box from a nearby closet towards the hotel's lift.

"Madam," he bowed to her.

Natalie ceded the floor by rubbing her brow with exasperation and annoyance, "Please tell me that the UNSC didn't send in another hit squad?"

Gillian regrettably had to disappoint, "They attempted a shadow landing, but appeared on broadband. Port Authority ignored the lapse in stealth and didn't do a hail. Instead, they informed us of the security breach thus giving us time to react."

Ms. Marquett crossed her arms and bobbed her head from side to side, "How long until they get here, and what's your plan to deal with these ruffians." Ruffians, as If another dedicated ONI hit squad were a bunch of pre-teens looking to crash a McDonalds' drive-thru.

"Twenty minutes and most of the security team will stay here to defend the penthouse. Immortals will be assigned to the lobby and parking deck. I'll be taking up position across the street with…" he tapped the side of his large black case, "Something special and non-standard."

The industrialist mogul looked to the case and then to her aging butler. She smiled and asked, "Is that… what I think it is? 20th Century?"

"Nothing beats a classic, my lady," replied Gillian with a chuckle. Regrettably, this was likely true. The UNSC preferred modern standardized firearms. Anything pre-22nd Century was exotic and rare if not a collector's item. However, sometimes something exotic rare and exotic was more capable than something mass-produced and modern.

With a regrettable sigh, the wealthy woman uttered, "Very well… good hunting, and let me just slip into something a little more…" she walked off into her room discarding her bathrobe, revealing her body, and opening up a suitcase filled with weapons and combat gear, "More… dependable."

Gillian nodded as the doors to her chamber closed and armed guards took up defensive positions around the penthouse. He left the hotel for a four-story office building across the way. Upon ascending the steps within this structure and before the ONI hit squad's arrival, the butler entered a conference room over-looking the hotels' pool and enclosed parking garage. Within the dull blue darkness of the conference chamber he sat the black case upon the floor and clicked open the hinges before flipping away the top. Chairs and other clutter were tossed about the chamber to make room prior to him starting the assembly of an Anzio 20mm Anti-Tank Rifle. The butler also sat a laptop upon the table and linked it via cords to the provided rifles optics. Then Gillian lay upon his belly upon the conference table with the rifle scanning the open area before him for the inbound assault team.

…

There is a lot to say about careful planning and execution from an assassin's standpoint, or so Spartan Fire Team Eagle had been indoctrinated to believe. Truth be told, this particular assignment was almost pathetically straight forward. Commander Corsac and his four team members had dealt the illustrious task of eliminating a known Insurrections Leader who had already alluded one assassination attempt leading to the death of Spartan Colvard 55895-00986-SP. Thus, the priority rapid response upon, 'his target,' an industrialist politician by the name of Ms. Natalie Marquette following the prior failed hit during transit by Oni Operations Team Shadow 31 Actual. As of now his team had been pulled into the mess for a tactical assault upon the Caliban Hotel and Resort. Black Op. Weapons Hot. All civilian losses were sanctioned by ONI.

"Time?" he asked simply. One of his team members checked the digital Chrono count-down in his helmet's visor as weapons and kit were given additional last-minute checks. Ammo pouches were also collected and attached over the black MJOLNIR Armor, backup wet work military talons stored away in sheaths, and backup silenced holdout weapons were placed upon thighs and shoulder harnesses.

"Nine minutes till to ten," replied Spartan Julia-15 as her M6H2 pistol had its chamber cleared and a new magazine slammed home.

Without skipping a beat Commander Corsac inquired, "Uplink confirmation?"

Spartan Johan-66 checked their coms, "Eagle to ONI-Mobile, requesting status?" There was a pause as the message bounced around the void through numerous satellite and sub-light feeds until at last hitting the proverbial desk of Director Osman aboard the USS Port Stanley. The director herself would be summoned to the bridge from the shipboard gym, arriving while donning proper military dress for things soon to come. Upon entering the bridge, she instantly asked the shipboard AI and arguably her personal secretary for information, "BB, sit-rep?"

The holographic bouncing box appeared over the central map table and jovially started to explain the situation, "Spartan Team Eagle is messaging in. Regrettably, Ms Palmer's fireteam was unavailable for the hit so I went with one of our more capable backups. Evidently, they are about ready to go weapons hot, and are checking in with us before dedicating themselves to the target… last second prep… nothing out of the ordinary."

Osman sat in her chair and pulled up a series of digital documents. She read them quickly to get a refresher upon the situation and elaborated, "Ms. Marquett. Second attempt at a dirty hit. Op Team Shadow 31 really left a path of devastation upon the highway leading to the resort…" she skimmed over the assault plan, "Through the garage and up using the stairs to breach the penthouse? Risk assessment?"

"15%" replied the AI before adding with a bounce which could arguably count as a wink, "They have no idea that a secondary team, all Spartans, has been dispatched to make another attempt. Osman was more skeptical, "That remains yet to be seen. We've underestimated Ms. Marquett twice already. While she may not be aware of our presence, I do doubt that she has made a few preparations just in case."

"We could always pull back and reassess…?" BB lead on in an open-ended manner. The idea was quickly shot down by his employer and owner, "No, this is about sending a message, terminating a threat, AND if we let Ms. Marquett walk free right now there is no guarantee that she won't just disappear after the summit. It's safer to take the risk both politically and militarily."

The ONI Director then looked to BB's hologram specifically and stated, "Tell them they are a-go and patch in helmet feeds to the con. I want to see what they see." The AI quickly elaborated, "The feed is currently suffering from minus-30 minutes due to courier time dilation."

"That will suffice," she stated simply, and BB did as instructed while sending the confirmation order to begin the tactical assault and bringing up helmet feeds from a first-person view. Osman effectively gained a front-row seat to the battle and began watching the coming assassination attempt while sitting back in her chair. It was time… to see Ms. Marquett die properly rather than dragging an assassination attempt half-assed and massively destructive down ten miles of interstate.

"Fire Team Eagle," said BB back over the com's, thirty minutes later, "You are a go."

…

The order came after Fire Team Eagle had finished its last-minute equipment checks and were sitting patiently upon a series of metal benches for the final say. No sooner than BB had spoken then a red dot appeared in Commander Corsac's face visor. He giggled at that and informed his fellow operators in kind, "Ladies and gentlemen it appears as though we have adopted an audience?"

There were a series of laughs about the circle as the assorted group of Spartans stood to attention with weapons ready. Johan-66 even gave an unenthusiastic, "Wooooo," in response. No surprise there for nobody liked ONI and UNSC Navy Brass looking over their shoulders during a sanctioned op, especially when that sanctioned op had a green light against civilians. It just made it harder to do hatchet work when the squeamish people were known to be watching and judging their every move.

"Just try to ignore it and stay focused," said Corsac as he braced to open the door towards the rear of their chamber. Then with a push… they were outside and the real party finally got started.

….

Commander Corsac and his fire team all triggered their active camo's while jumping out of the back of a parked big-rig sitting under a highway overpass near the hotel and resort. In a flanking line, they ran over open ground through a parking lot towards the ten-story resort sitting on beachfront property. Johan and Corsac leap-frogged in cover between vehicles despite the camo keeping them masked. Better safe than sorry just in case the heat sinks weren't working correctly and someone was watching on thermals.

Lilly, Julia, and Coldfish hugged a concrete retainer wall far to the right as the group of black-armored Spartans all with green visors eventually reached the outside of the hotel resort's exterior wall. So far, so good. No sign of being noticed either by a PMC of Indies defending the hotel or by civilian elements. Julia took point at this moment around the perimeter wall as numerous vacationers could be heard swimming and mingling around the exterior pool within the twilight hours of the evening. From Osman's delayed perspective everything seemed rather tame thus far… and she hoped that it would stay that way.

Eventually, the hit squad reached the ascent ramp into the hotels parking garage. Coldfish took the lead and between him and Julia they leap-frogged between parked vehicles through the garage. However, they hit a snag. At one specific vehicle, Coldfish's armor rubbed up against some sort of parked civilian car causing the alarm to go off. Annoyed, Corsac snapped at the man over the coms, "Silence it damn-it!" in a hushed yell. Coldfish did just that by snapping open the doors handle using his armor's hydraulics, and putting a single round through the dashboard's computer system. The alarm system silenced, but not before drawing in a security guard from a nearby booth. This husky gentleman adorned in a blue security uniform and wielding both a flashlight and taser wandered over to the parked car. His light beam went over Coldfish's prone form refracting and revealing the outline of his body.

"What in the name of…" spoke the guard, before Julia put a knife up against his throat and silenced the unfortunate fool for good. Quick and bloody, but necessary. They couldn't risk an actual alarm being raised right now.

"Sorry sir…" spoke Coldfish over the private coms while standing to his feet and shaking his head with shame. Despite still having his active camo still in operation it didn't protect the man from what happened next as a 20mm round suddenly tore through two feet of reinforced concrete and blew out the front of his face mask in a spray of chunky red paste and pink brain matter. Coldfish's headless body materialized as the active camo effect stopped due to a lack of neural feed, and thumped to the ground… dead. Then the lights in the garage also all went off at the same time as suppressive gunfire started to rake the Hit Squads' positions. Everyone went to cover, and Corsac yelled, "Coldfish is down! Did anyone see the shooter!?" No, no they couldn't… because the shooter was outside and shooting into the garage through reinforced concrete, but… how? How did the shooter know where they were?