Then, without ceremony, Jin-Woo stepped forward and held his palm to the air. A quiet hum resonated across the hangar—inaudible to most, , a silent beacon formed—its edges refracted with folded space, a silent bloom of Forerunner geometry and ancient frequency.
In the next breath, a ripple in silent slipspace unfolded, and from within that gap, a familiar construct emerged: a floating sentinel-like drone laced with golden lattice lines. The mark of Offensive Bias.
Without hesitation, Jin-Woo reached up and took the data-shard from the construct—a pulsing insignia encoded with multi-layered encryption—and pressed it firmly back into his shoulder.
CLINK. The mark sank beneath his skin, fusing seamlessly once more with his system.
Then, the AI's voice echoed through Jin-Woo's thoughts—calm, cold, and precise.
Welcome back, Supreme Executor. I am surprised… your most important mission lies within my galaxy.
Jin-Woo replied through telepathic channeling—his tone sharp and deliberate.
I want you to dig into Del Rio's entire service record. Every report. Every incident. Every reprimand. Build the full case. Then leak it across the UNSC's internal channels. I want Hood to see it. I want the brass to see it. He gets replaced by Lasky… or fired. Permanently.
Offensive Bias processed the order in less than a second.
"Affirmative."
Fourteen minutes later—at the Command Bridge of the UNSC Infinity—the tension had thickened again.
The curved control deck was quiet. The main viewport showed only distant stars and burned Requiem atmosphere.. Only the faint ambient whine of consoles, and the low murmur of tactical sensors recalibrating.
Jin-Woo stood near the center, arms folded behind his back.
Lasky remained beside him, composed but wary. Chief stood near the console bank—silent, unreadable. Palmer paced slowly near the far side of the room, glancing occasionally between the others, her fingers tapping against her thigh out of habit.
Del Rio stood across from them. In resentment.
"When the full might of the UNSC rains down," he hissed, "you'll be done. You, and this traitor—" he nodded toward Chief, "—who brought this disaster to my doorstep."
He pointed a finger at Jin-Woo next. "Don't think hijacking alien tech makes you a hero. You're a rogue. An anomaly. Master Chief's complicit. Both of you? You're finished. I'll make sure of it."
BEEP.
A sharp chime echoed across the bridge.
Every eye turned as the comms console blinked—an incoming transmission forced its way through priority clearance.
The screen flared to life. Lord Hood's stern face filled the frame.
"This is Lord Hood."
Del Rio straightened, surprised—but wasted no time. "Fleet Admiral—sir, I demand you authorize an arrest warrant! This man—this civilian—is a walking threat to the UNSC! And Chief—he disobeyed direct protocol. I have full authority under Field Directive 98-71 to—"
"Captain Del Rio," Hood interrupted sharply, eyes narrowing. "You are hereby relieved of duty."
Del Rio blinked, lips parting. "W-What?"
"You're being charged with gross negligence and operational misconduct," Hood continued, voice cold. "Your decisions on Requiem nearly led to the death of countless subordinates. Your mismanagement during critical encounters with Covenant remnants and unclassified entities has been reviewed. And the reports… do not speak in your favor."
"You will be court-martialed at the earliest convenience," Hood finished. "Effective immediately, command of the UNSC Infinity is transferred to First Officer Thomas Lasky."
Del Rio's face twisted in disbelief. "This has to be a mistake. ? Fleet Admiral—sir—this has to be some kind of internal sabotage! This can't be—!"
Lord Hood didn't even blink. His voice remained calm, precise, and final.
"Remove this gentleman from the command center, Commander Palmer."
Palmer didn't hesitate. She'd been waiting for this. "Yes, sir, Lord Hood."
She turned immediately and gave a sharp gesture.
Three Spartans moved without delay. One grabbed Del Rio by the arm, the other two flanked him.
Del Rio thrashed, his voice rising with indignant fury. "I'm a captain! You can't do this! I own the Infi—!"
CLANK.
The Spartans dragged him out. The doors hissed shut behind him, muffling his protests.
The silence that followed was cold. Clean. Liberating.
On the screen, Lord Hood adjusted his stance slightly.
"I suppose," he said, eyeing the figure standing near the center of the command deck, "you're the one who goes by the name… Jin-Woo?"
Jin-Woo raised his head, voice calm. "Yes. I am."
Chief stepped forward beside him, voice steady and formal.
"Lord Hood. Spartan-117, reporting for duty."
A smile touched Hood's lips. "Welcome back, soldier."
Then his attention shifted fully back to Jin-Woo.
"But this report in front of me says you can… transport me directly? You're offering a face-to-face meeting through unknown means?"
His eyes narrowed, but not with suspicion—more curiosity. "You sure?"
Without a word, Jin-Woo raised his hand to the air beside Hood's screen.
A sudden twist of space shimmered—then cracked—forming into a swirling dark portal lined with violet-black edges and geometric lattice. It bloomed open in full beside the Fleet Admiral.
Jin-Woo's voice was calm, almost casual.
"Think of it like a gateway. Or slipspace. Except mine's faster. Cleaner."
Lord Hood stared at it for a moment, then gave a quiet exhale. he muttered. "Guess I'm not too old for new tricks after all."
He stepped through.
In an instant, the Fleet Admiral emerged from the swirling portal and into the command bridge of the UNSC Infinity. The air warped slightly behind him as the rift sealed itself with a quiet hum. Without pause, Hood crossed the deck and extended his hand.
Jin-Woo accepted the handshake, silent and steady.
Lord Hood nodded with firm gratitude.
"On behalf of the United Nations Space Command… thank you. For bringing Master Chief home after four years missing in action. And for handling what this report describes as Unsc nearly going toe-to-toe with a Forerunner entity."
Jin-Woo's reply was blunt.
"I already took care of that."
Master Chief stepped forward, voice clear.
"Sir. Jin-Woo wants the Forerunner artifact held at Ivanoff Research Station. In exchange for neutralizing the Didact and saving my life."
Lord Hood's expression didn't shift.
"Yes. I know."
He exhaled quietly, folding his arms as his eyes lingered on Jin-Woo.
"The report already mentions the request… but the Ivanoff artifact . We've invested years into its research. Billions of credits. Multiple task forces. The UNSC Security Council and I can't simply hand it over."
He paused—then added with weight behind his words. "Unless you have something of equal value. Or greater."
Jin-Woo tilted his head slightly.
"That 'equal or greater'… depends on what the Ivanoff Research Station is actually trying to accomplish. If it's focused on advanced medicine, neural reconstruction… or just unlocking how the Composer works—then I do have something better."
Lord Hood raised an eyebrow. "…We're not even entirely sure what Ivanoff's doing. Just that the artifact hums when it's charged with power. We've theorized neural conversion. Digital ascension. Maybe even immortality—but nothing's been proven."
He narrowed his eyes. "So? Show me what you're offering."
Jin-Woo raised one hand.
"Bias. Transport."
A silent ripple opened in space—precise, flawless. A slipspace slit formed beside the command deck. From within, a compact sentinel glided forward, humming quietly.
"Affirmative, Supreme Executor," came the voice of Offensive Bias.
Four containment pods materialized behind it—large tanks filled with vibrant fluid and figures suspended in medical stasis. Vapor hissed as locking seals engaged, stabilizing them in perfect alignment with the deck plating.
Cortana's voice sparked through Chief's helmet.
"Wait… that's a Monitor. But… not like 343 Guilty Spark.."
Jin-Woo didn't look at her.
"That's not your average Monitor," he said. "It's Offensive Bias. The strongest AI the Forerunners ever made. Built to outmaneuver Mendicant Bias. Built to win the war the Forerunners couldn't."
He turned to Lord Hood.
"Now it Serves me ."
Jin-Woo nodded toward the tanks.
"These are the start. The bacta tanks.. Full-immersion regenerative units. Capable of restoring shredded muscle, fractured bones, collapsed lungs, and even spinal trauma. They accelerate cellular healing, stabilize vital signs, restore some of organ function, and suppress immune shock. A partial system reset, down to the neural layer."
Lord Hood turned, his expression unreadable.
"Captain Lasky. You said we had numerous wounded."
Lasky stepped forward, jaw tight.
"Indeed we do, sir. Med bays are at full capacity. Field medics are burning out. We're running on stimulants and patches."
He looked at the tanks—then back to Hood.
"…But what should we do? Are we just going to dump our people in these tanks—like Jin-Woo called them—and hope they work?"
A sharp pulse flickered from the construct floating nearby. Offensive Bias hovered forward, its voice clinical and devoid of hesitation.
"Recommendation: initiate triage sequencing. These systems include advanced diagnostic filtration. Internal nanite relay will identify high-priority subjects based on trauma index and remaining survival time."
Jin-Woo's voice remained level.
"Four tanks. Each processes four patients per cycle. Full body restoration every thirty minutes. Sixteen men saved per rotation. And they don't need surgeons to supervise."
He gave Lasky a single glance.
"You can ask questions. Or you can start loading bodies."
=============================================================================
Thirty minutes passed.
Inside the med-bay extension, the first four soldiers were already submerged in the glowing recovery fluid—each one wearing a sleek breathing mask, vitals stabilized. The tanks pulsed gently with light. No surgical arms, no cables. Just stillness. Healing.
Then Hiss.
The tanks opened with a soft release of steam. The fluid levels lowered.
One by one, the patients stirred. Eyes opened. Limbs flexed. Burns gone. Bones set. Even the plasma scarring from Covenant strikes—erased like it never happened.
Palmer stood nearby, staring in disbelief.
"Incredible…" she muttered. "No scarring. One of those men had major head trauma. Another was wrapped in second-degree burns. And now… they're all walking."
Jin-Woo stood calmly off to the side, arms folded.
"They don't perform miracles," he said. "They just push the body past its limits. Regeneration pushed to its maximum. That's all."
Lord Hood's eyes lingered on the tank displays, then slowly turned to face Jin-Woo.
"…You've got more of these, don't you?"
A sharp voice responded in Jin-Woo's mind—Offensive Bias.
"Morgan and I have secured 10,000 bacta tanks across the Zeta Halo medical grid."
Jin-Woo gave a slight nod.
"I have at least a thousand of them accessible right now. Mobile units. Ready for deployment."
Lord Hood took a slow breath.
"…Then I'll take that into consideration."
He gave Jin-Woo a firm look.
"In the meantime, you're officially classified as an ally to the UNSC. That comes with certain expectations… but also protection."
Jin-Woo didn't blink. His reply came without hesitation.
"Just give me the Composer," he said flatly, "and the one thousand bacta tanks are yours. I don't care about ranks. I don't need UNSC protection or approval."
Lord Hood studied him for a moment longer.
"…For what purpose, Mr. Jin-Woo? What does the Composer offer you?"
Jin-Woo exhaled through his nose.
"First off—I'm not from this galaxy. My war is happening beyond it. Far beyond."
He looked Hood in the eye. "And I need the Composer to win."
Lord Hood raised an eyebrow.
"A galaxy traveler… possibly more advanced than the Forerunners themselves, then."
He didn't ask more. The look in Jin-Woo's eyes said enough.