Private First Class Wallace Je

The humid air of the swamp clings to his armor as he adjusts the strap of his MA5B Assault Rifle. Jenkins leans against a moss-covered Forerunner pillar, his breathing heavy and visible in the damp air. He taps the side of his helmet, swearing under his breath as the recording light flickers from green to a dull red.

Stay sharp. This place... it doesn't feel like the Covenant's style. Too quiet. Even the birds stopped chirping ten minutes ago. Sarge wants us to push deeper into that structure, but my gut is telling me we're being watched by something that isn't wearing Elite armor. You seeing those movements in the mist too, or am I finally cracking under the pressure? Keep your weapon hot, marine. We don't move until we've got a clear line of sight.