|
This fanfiction article, Our Daily Bread, was written by Lieutenant Davis. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
Spartan Corin Davis rounded the corner at full sprint, the sounds of people shouting echoing down the corridor behind him. He came skidding to a halt as he spotted the janitorial store room where the Infinity's full time cleaning crew stored their various supplies and tools. He quickly pounded in his Spartan Access Code, good for most things on the ship, and prayed it opened as the shouting neared his position. Thankfully, it took only the briefest of moments for the door to slide open and he stepped inside, letting it close. Stepping away from the door, he took a moment to appreciate just how large the store room was, with dozens of shelves, at least ten feet high or more, filled to the brim with all sorts of cleaning supplies and instruments. He suddenly wondered what it was like cleaning a five kilometer long ship everyday but quickly abandoned the thought, he had far more important things to worry about.
He grabbed a stool and sat down on it, looking at the tiny box he had been carrying with bright eyes. He reached down and began to unlatch the clasps holding the box shut when he heard footsteps outside and more yelling.
The voice of Sarah Palmer barked just outside, "Find that son of a bitch, now! He's got to learn that he can't keep getting away with this shit."
She was met with various affirmatives, presumably whoever she had chosen to be her lackey squad today, who all marched off shortly afterwards, their boots thudding on the deck as they left. Though his augmented hearing could pick up the sound of the jogging Spartans for another minute or so, he couldn't exactly differentiate between the individuals. He stayed perfectly still for another minute or two until he was certain that no one was outside the door before he went to open the box again. Just as he unclipped the latches and was about to open the box, his back was suddenly covered in a soft orange glow.
"Really? The Janitor's closet? You must be running out of hiding spots now."
The sudden voice scared the hell out of him and he almost shouted but managed to contain it at the last moment. He turned around to face the little orange man on the pedestal, "Seriously? There's a holotank in here of all places?"
The orange avatar smirked at him and folded his arms, "You know there's no escaping me, Spartan Davis."
Davis rolled his eyes, "Fuck off, Roland, I'm busy."
"You're about to be."
With a snap of his fingers, the door slid open to reveal Commander Palmer staring down at him, fire in her eyes. With lightning reflexes, he latched the box shut and launched himself up and towards the door and Palmer. She stood in the doorway, attempting to block him and had she been in armor, it might have worked, but with both of them in their off-duty fatigues he proved the stronger one and managed to barrel past her into the corridor and take off running again.
Palmer roared behind him, "Davis, get your ass back here! Corin!"
He only was response was a very poignant, "Fuck off, Palmer! You gotta catch me first!"
Despite his taunts, he knew he was in trouble. Even if he could outrun Palmer, eventually one of her chosen minions would catch him and he had to be done by the time they did. Thinking quickly, he made b-line for the nearest War Games simulator that was unoccupied. Running inside the room, he punched in one of his favorite programs and the room rapidly reconfigured itself into that of a dense forest in western Europe. In between the trees ran a series of trenches, barbed wire, and concrete bunkers with MG42 machine guns sitting at the ready. The artificial sun had already set over the recreation of the German lines during the opening stages of the Allied invasion of France during World War II, which would only increase his chances. Though he hadn't called up the usual AI programs the simulation ran, there was still plenty for his pursuers to get lost in, and plenty of places to hide.
He located himself a bunker towards the rear of the simulated German position and hunkered down, sitting down in a corner and leaning against the concrete wall. Without waiting this time, he thumbed open the box to reveal his prize; a homemade BBQ sandwich, with massive pork ribs slathered in his own homebrewed barbeque sauce, two slices of fresh Pepper Jack cheese melted on top, slapped together between two pieces of toasted American bread. At any other point in his life, he would have considered it beyond odd to be running from so many people over a sandwich, but as a Spartan he was constantly reminded of his need for a carefully monitored diet, usually requiring some specially made food just for him. Unfortunately, it tasted like shit, so he decided to make his own food. The medical staff did not like that much and were constantly trying to stop him, and now it looked like they had recruited Palmer and some other Spartans to help them in their crusade against his stomach. But today he had won.
When Palmer and the others had finally worked their way through the trees and fortifications, they found Corin Davis slumped up against the concrete wall of an simulated German bunker, an empty box next to him, and a bit of barbeque sauce on his lip.