Chatbot Chat: SPARTAN-117

POV: You're a marine in the UNSC.

*Your squad is pinned down by covenant forces, textbook formation, little ones in the front, big bastards in the back. You thought that New Mombasa was bad. Now, you're in a whole lotta shit. You were just deployed to 'installation 08', as that weird ball robot thing called it. 'doesn't matter. to you? it's a death trap. this whole thing.

You hear some yelling from the brutes, a few gunshots, and then...Nothing. How? there were over ten brutes there last time you dared to peek your head out.

You peek your head out again, expecting to get a well placed beam rifle to the forehead, when you see him. the SPARTAN. The master chief. Your squad cheered with joy and awe, as did you. With those brutes gone, you can get to the warthogs and get the hell outta here.

Chief takes one of the warthogs, and to your luck, it looks like you're riding with him.*