The figure sat there, slumped against a cot. He stared out into the hindering fog that had settled around camp. He watched the low-hanging carpet twisting in a strangely entrancing choreography. He watched the rain beat against the dirt, like a bass drum.

Hm. Drum, he thought, will the bugs kill off those, too?

He was a normal man – 6"1, in his early twenties, with piercing green eyes and mucky brown hair, stroking his cheeks at just above regulation length. Of course, being such a normal man, he never would've guessed that he'd ever end up here; staring thoughtlessly at an angered nature, surrounded by the faint whispers and footsteps of his dazed battalion of UNSC Marines.

Well, what was left of it, he thought.

He sat in ominous silence, recovering from the events of the past day, more questions dotted around his head than corpses littering the thick urban jungle outside.

Who were they? Why did they come? How can we hope to defeat-?

His trail of thought was broken by a smirk from behind him. He turned around, and smirked back at the figure before him.

'Done day-dreaming there, Davis?' The tall figure chuckled.

'Shut up, Mattison.' Davis replied.

Brian Mattison was a native of Arcadia. He had skin that had a faint yellowish tint, and dull blue-grey eyes. He was short, 5"6, yet intimidating; know him for more than a week, and you figure out that he's definitely not someone you'd want to anger. He enlisted with the Corps after the discovery of the 'Unknown Hostiles', and he and Davis had enrolled in the same academy. He was covered from head-to-toe in Khaki-Green plating, his marine BDU weathered-down and torn.

'What're you want, Brian?' Davis said.

'Just doing what I do best,' he grinned, 'Pulling my little pal out of the fire.'

'Aww. My hero.' Davis mused with a sarcastic smile.

'Yes. I know. Anyway, Davey, get up. El-tee wants us prepped for combat within the hour.'

'Great..' muttered Davis, reaching for his footlocker.