This right fist banged against the side of the ghost, denting the material slightly. Soon after the last banshee had been taken out he'd been separated from the others and then lost all contact with them since. Patric didn't really mind being alone or leaving the other Spartans on their own, no what he did mind was the mission and the fact that one was injured, gravely injured even. Now he'd driven the ghost through much of the area he'd last seen the others in but a low battery on the ghost had forced him to slow his search, which left him open to an ambush. Admittedly it was small and poorly executed and he had been able to deal with the small force, several Jackals with a score of Grunts. He was able to come out of the small engagement with a fully charged shield and no further damage, but the ghost was knocking on death's front door; And it had just hit empty leaving him alone and on foot.<br/><br/>Turning from the unpowered machine he looked at his surroundings, ignoring the faint itch of his right hand. The phantom itch he couldn't scratch. The mechanical replacement for his left eye proved useful as it aided the visor, zooming in, changing the light level. It was near dark, he had heard some fighting in the distance, back the way he had come. He had considered turning back but had decided against it. There was no reason for the others to return there, not for him. He may be one of them but he wasn't vital to the mission. Whoever was behind him was either sent in as a follow up due to the lack of communication or, just as likely, survivors from the original attack meeting the covenant. Whichever it was Patric didn't have the time nor the consideration to help them. He did however have the time to do a little reconniasance while he was looking for Gladiator and Hunter and what he had found was important. He'd discovered the location of at least one jammer and had a tentative on another.<br/><br/>Since he couldn't find the others Patric would have to enter the fight on his own. The jammer, just ahead and around the third bend in the road was lightly guarded, which made some sense- it was in the completely opposite direction of where he and the others were going when they'd been separated. They'd been tricked into thinking the jammers were ahead and the covenant had lightened their guard, likely devoting most of that freed up power to the ambush, leaving several Brutes and a handful of lesser species. Grunts mostly, a few jackals to buffer. Nothing more. All were armed with standard weapons, plasma pistols, carbines for the Brutes, a needler.<br/><br/>Crouched, Patric crept his way forward. They didn't even have an advanced guard, they were truly undermanned! He stopped just within sight of the jammer, the Brutes had flipped the nearest vehicles on their sides and moved them- bottom facing the outside to form barriers against any attack, which gave Patric a clear shot at the fuel tanks.  Raising the MG6 he had left, Patric took careful aim, both hands holding perfectly still as he waited. The Brutes were all patrolling the inner most area around the jammer, the Grunts were all sleeping and the Jackals were standing idly by. They didn't expect much.<br/><br/><em><strong>BOOOOM!</strong></em><br/><br/>The Brutes crossed paths just by Patric's target, the fuel tank of the nearest car, the resulting explosion engulfed two of the Brutes and sent flaming shrapnel out, pieces shredding Grunts to ribbons and slamming into the nearby vehicles. Several of the poor little creatures exploded as the burning metal cut through methane tanks, igniting the highly flamable gasses, sending bits of alien and flaming balls in many directions. Another car went up in flames. The Jackals had no time to react as they were cut down, bodies torn and burned. Another car. Another. The first five went up almost simultaneously, the deaths of all but one Brute taking less than three seconds. It was more than Patric had even considered happening. None the less Patric was already up and running forward, toward the only surviving hostile left, whom was too bewildered and in a state of complete surprise when Patric's right fist slammed into his face, staggering him. Now focused on the Spartan the Brute let out a deep bellow of pain and loathing. He was pissed off. Pistol in hand Patric didn't waste any time as he slammed the pistol into the Brute's mouth as he jumped forward, pulling the trigger while shoving the weapon into the beast's maw, cutting off the bellow and causing the beast to suffocate as his other hand repeatedly pumped into the side of the Brute's head at full strength.<br/><br/>He usually wasn't a man of such brutality but he had to act fast and he had to end it quickly and a pistol alone was no match for a Brute. Thankfully a pistol backed by the savage beating Patric laid out on the poor thing was as it finally died, the thought to bite the offending arm in it's mouth only half formed. Yanking his arm from the maw of the Brute Patric turned to the jammer and did the one thing he came to do; placed four fragmentation grenades on the jammer and pull the pin on one then ran. The resulting explosion did the trick as he began to pick up...less static. It wasn't much but he managed to at least weaken the blockage.<br/><br/>Running from the jammer and any nearby patrols was Patric's main concern as he rounded the corner of a building and hurdled into another and into the basement before taking a deep breath. He'd managed to do it. Just one step of the mission complete and-<br/>The fierce, blinding pain doubled Patric over and onto his knees and forced him to gasp for air, barely managing to pull the helmet off and let it roll away as he let whatever he had last eaten forcefully exit his mouth in a most inglorified fashion. The acid burned the back of his throat and nostrils as he left it all out, barely able to breath. When he finally regained consciousness, he found himself huddled around his helmet in the darkest corner of the basement, away from the vomit. From the noise and light, he estimated only a few minutes had passed. Uncurling was a painful exercise as his muscled had locked up. He needed water in his body soon or he'd die. Slowly, painfully he worked his muscles to cooperation and managed to stand and slowly walk up the stairs and drag his feet across the floor to the kitchen.<br/><br/>It was all he could do not to just drop and let himself die, but he persisted, his coloration a pale, sickly yellow. Finally reaching the sink, Patric reached out with one finger and pushed the dial for water pressure and smiled as a slow trickle began to sluice from the faucet. Leaning forward he stuck his mouth under the stream and relished the feel on his lips, licked at the water. Then froze as the water stopped. The smile died as he stood and glared at the faucet. He pushed the pressure to full yet nothing came out. He moved the faucet and not so much as a drip came out. In frustrated hopelessness Patric's face contorted into a face of baleful anger before he placed his helmet in place. Glaring at the faucet wouldn't do anything. Nothing could come from staring at that...that thing! Slamming his fists onto the surface, the counter tops shattered and fell and Patric stumbled forward, his hands reaching up and grabbing the faucet like he meant to strangle the metal, instead only managing to stop any possible flow of water more permanently as his weight tore through the sink, counters, plumbing and wall, all the while Patric screamed silently in his mind at the water and the cruelty of earth. Why?<em>WHY!?</em>Why couldn't he have gotten even a small drink?<br/><br/>If anything could be said for Patric in his last moments of consciousness, he always goes down fighting and there would be no trace of the faucet whenever he might be found. His only real hope now was that his suit would crack a seal and it rained on him.