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Jonah was impressed. If the Covenant had such high-level Spec-Ops troops stationed on such a remote moon, then one of two options was true: Either ONI had gotten their intel right and this place was, in fact, a pretty damn big deal to the Covenant, or the Headhunters had been doing their job so well that this whole scenario was one big alien boondoggle devised to draw them out. For a moment, thoughts of Roland’s death and six large obstacles standing before him dissipated and Jonah found himself strangely satisfied—if two or more teams of the Covenant’s absolute top-of-the-line Elite squads were tied up babysitting a site so far from the frontlines, then they weren’t on the frontlines, which was a win for the UNSC no matter how you sliced it.

“You idiots set this up,” he called to the Elite. “This . . . all of it. You wanted us . . . heh. Yer afraid of us. I’m flattered.”

“You are dead,” one of the Elite hissed.

“Could be. Don’t matter.”

“You value your life so little?”

“No. Not really,” Jonah explained. “I kinda like being me, actually. But you being here, means yer not somewhere else, get it? All this . . . these resources, all yer skill, wasted on a few ‘pathetic’ humans makes me feel kinda good—kinda special. And if you think yer taking me out without losing a limb . . . you’ve lost yer goddamn mind.”

“We’ll see who’s lost their mind, once we have carved your flesh and you’ve screamed your secrets to the stars,” the main Elite replied.

These guys were different, and Jonah admired them for it.

Usually Covenant battlefield doctrine was simple and to the point: “Take no prisoners.” And while this new brand of Elite seemed to be playing a different game, Jonah was fairly certain that, had they wanted, he would already be dead. After all, they had the numbers and, up until a moment ago, the added advantage of total surprise.

“This ends one of two ways, chief,” Jonah said. “I either walk out of here, yer teeth hangin’ from a string around my neck, or I die with my fist down someone’s throat.”

Jonah made a come-hither motion with his SMG, before finishing, “So let’s start this party, I’m late for a hot date, and I don’t wanna keep yer sister waiting.” Jonah was unsure if the familial insult would translate, but by this point he couldn’t care less. It was time to dance.

“You can sense your end, human. That is good. If it brings you any peace, the whole of your kind will soon follow suit.”

The lead Elite clicked something to his squad in their native language.

Three of the Elites leveled what looked to be modified carbine rifles at Jonah, while two others began moving toward him, igniting their energy swords. As the blades sparked to life Jonah noticed something he’d earlier mistaken as a trick of Roland’s blood on the Elite’s blade—these energy swords weren’t powered by the same blue-white energy source as the Covenant’s typical plasma-based cutlery. Instead they were comprised of a reddish energy combined with the white flicker of electricity, which caused them to emit a blood-colored glow.

Jonah couldn’t guess at the difference between these new swords and the more commonly used blue-variant, but he was sure of one thing: his attackers were full of surprises, and he felt a twinge of fear creep up the back of his neck.

The two sword-wielding Elites moved forward carefully, as if stalking prey.

Jonah laughed. “You know I can see you, right?”

The Elites didn’t alter their approach, maintaining their speed and positioning—muscles tensed, ready to strike.

“We are aware of your visual upgrades, human. As stated, we’ve already been through this with your friends. Lay down your arms and surrender yourself for inquisition.”

Jonah shifted his gaze to Roland’s body, keeping the Elites squarely in peripheral view. “Twenty credits says yer all dead within . . . let’s say . . . the next thirty seconds.”

The lead Elite scoffed. “We will end you before you so much as bruise our egos, dog. Now, lay down your weapons—”

“Seriously. I know you might not have any credits handy, but I’m willing to take the Covenant