1,709AN: I'd like to answer an overall complaint I see in the reviews.
Oh boy, the Illusive Man. After reading the complaints, and writing this chapter, I was really hesitant to release this one.
But, then I thought: I'm not retconning anything.
Fuck that.
Sure, I'll tone it down on him. Give him some explanation and restraint.
Anyways, so far this is the main complaint. The Illusive Man is ultra uplifted. Thought I gave it a good starting explanation, with more explanation to follow, but...ugh. And I do get it. But to those not satisfied by any explanation... Look, dog, We ALL knew it was heading that way. We ALL knew he had more screen time than Osman, and inserting her this late will 'overbloat' the story.
Also I fucking hate how star trecky they're making the UNSC. Jesus Christ like Fuck. Hey, the only species we met tried ot murder us, but hey democracy and let's start a alien refugee colony in Rio De Jinero, and Spartan Vale gets wet a the sight of an Elite. We just go from the relative "good guys" to the Star Trek Federation 'Good Guys.' Because people can't handle moral ambiguity. Never mind it's the same organization that kidnapped children, and Operation Trechchut, and censorship. OH No that's ALL ONI, THE unSNF are the Good GuYs Buthwda isf
Ehhh. You get the point.
You know, I was talking to someone on discord when they pointed out my word count exceeded some of the LOTR books. While he said it just shows my passion, etc. it honestly kinda fucked me up and made me demotivated in various ways.
I really wish someone had told me from the very beginning when I picked up writing that the less you have to say the better. That stories should be expedited and not over bloated.
In essence, my chapters will get shorter and shorter and straight to the damn point. I also realized this reading various fanfictions and getting beyond unbelievable tired in the first couple chapters because 1. The paragraphs are so fucking unbelievable thick it's like jfc I'm not reading that. 2. So much of that information is redundant, and so on, thus causing me to skip swaths of chunks of text... And jfc, I'm not missing any of the story! Like fuck. My story is the same exact way
I wish instead of quantity I focused on short precise quality. I wish I knew when to end chapters instead of just writing more and more reaching a word count. Now, in recent chapters, I've implemented the shorter word counts and I believe the overall quality of the story has improved. Easier to follow, more character development, less convoluted, far, far better pacing etc. I bet I can cut 100,000 words and the story would be the same, and I wish there wasn't weird plot tails that are there just... well, in essence just to make the story more bloated, to get a word count.
FOR EXAMPLE: I really, really wish Thane wasn't there, with the whole weird tangent of him and Kasumi on the Infinity. It is so unbelievable pointless, and makes the plot so over-convoluted, and has caused me so many problems in writing.
However, in comparison, I like the chapters Across the Galaxy and Rah because while it doesn't advance the story, it is a very extreme of 'show-don't-tell,' and displays the...outer impacts of the story and has some character development.
So my point is: there is zero, absolutely zero reasons a chapter should exceed 5,000 words at most. That is a max and most chapters shouldn't be reaching that word count anyways.
A story can be complex, but it can't be over-bloated or convuluted, or fucking dense. It's about the reader after all.
So I'm doing some revaluating essentially. If anyone wants to beta for me - which the main job would be trimming down all the old chapters and to bounce ideas off of, PM me... I'll try to respond in a timely manner, but in the past I've been bad at responding to PMs (Trying to fix that). So yeah... The goal would be pretty much the gut the story of unnecessary fat, unnecessary plot points, so on. I would do it myself as I usually have time, but...well... it simply isn't the case anymore for better or worse.
I guess it would be...idk, charity work. Again, it's old chapters and I imagine it will take a decent amount of time. The middleish chapter are the worse. So I would say it'd be a bit of a commitment? Idk.
And in that, I'm expediating the story. This chapter is the beginning of the end of this story. Again, I went back to my plot points and there's so much shit I cut out, and so on. Yet...not a lot was lost at all surprisingly. Like I said: no need to be overbloated.
Also, the Halo TV show looks like an awful high budget Sci-Fy show. It doesn't look good, and reading the subsequent articles and Rotten Tomato reviews... Ya, the bar is so low as in I'll probably skip it unless I hear something different. High Charity and the Prophet's throne room look cool... Other than that...
Anyways,
Enjoy.
The CSS-battle cruiser began to glass the earth. Everything burned to obsidian glass two kilometers out. Still, Fred felt the scorching heat and blistering radiation as blue particles and ash began to fall upon the facility. It began to intermix with the rising wind.
According to the meteorological reports, the tropical storm was still happening. The distant skies began to blacken, and soon enough rain will fall. This world will become dark.
The crashed cargo ship began to burn, and immediately small arms fire opened up. Plasma and eezo rounds were exchanged. Brilliant bolts of light splashed against unseen enemy positions. Linda kneeled and peered through her scope.
Fred continued to watch the battle cruiser. Could be Cerberus, friendly Elite, anyone.
"Incoming…" Linda whispered. Fred looked. Fast mover on the open battlefield. Light armored vehicle. A Mako if he remembered correctly. The MAC gun positions weren't made for ground targets. Maneuvering and ignoring enemy battlements among the ridgelines, the Mako fired rounds akin to 7.62 ball machine gun and a 25 mil canon.
"Fred?" Linda asked as he kneeled and looked through scopes. Cerberus regulars were manning the positions. Survivors. Too distracted by the Mako to fire the MAC gun.
On distant ridgelines, however, Fred spotted Covenant regulars. Grunts and Jackals lead by Elite minors, and an Ultra every once and a while. They and Cerberus had been engaged in a firefight.
"Well?" Linda asked.
Fred nodded. Linda began to set up shop. She tied the sling around certain portions of her armor and laid down in a firing position. Unhooking the stand in the sniper rifle, she began to zero in.
"Be interesting without a spotter…" Linda mumbled.
"You never needed one."
"Yeah…" Linda sighed. "Wind getting heavy. Fifteen-mile-per-hour gusts, but it'll eventually clear up. Distance max seven oh-oh. Line of sight clear."
She quickly readjusted her elevation and wind adjustable cap on the weapon's scope. She was ready.
Fred moved in. Open terrain. Uneven, muddy jungle floor intermixed with metal platforms and ridgelines. Nearest defilade was the gun itself about five-hundred meters out. Linda did her thing. She began firing. The weapons report of her sniper rifle rang like a church bell, carried off in the howling wind. One by one in quick succession, Cerberus soldiers were hit center mass. Anti-matter rounds pierced their 'kinetic barriers' and metal armor. The bullets tore up their insides and left only blood pouring out of gaping wounds.
In less than twenty seconds, one by one, Cerberus soldiers were picked off as they attempted to engage the Mako. They finally turned to engage Fred after twenty-five seconds. When he was already half-way there, dead sprinting.
He provided fire suppression, brazenly spraying bullets from his assault rifle as Linda still provided a steady, mechanical rotation of fire. Cerberus soldiers hit dead center, and only five seconds later could they even hear a weapons report.
They began taking cover in the control room located in the support structure of the gun platform. Fred closed the distance, aimed himself at the door. The metal crumpled like tissue. The door was blown away. Fred took aim at the nearest Cerberus soldier and emptied his remaining assault rifle clip.
He switched to his DMR. Around six Cerberus soldiers standing in what looked like a control room. A holographic display tablet took the center. Charts and computers lined the wall of the large room. He lined the shots, already knew the firing order. He aimed at the nearest. Engineer. Down almost instantly. Turned to the next soldier as he dived into cover on the left side of the hall. Another double-controlled pair. Shields burst and bullets pierced the soft parts of the armor.
The Cerberus team finally responded, diving into cover and readying weapons. Two were downed as they sprinted to the nearest defendable positions.
Two seconds. Four down.
Another second, two more down and now they're finally returning fire. Standard eezo weapons. Mattocks, he believed they were called. A round hit his shields, depleting maybe fifteen percent.
Fred ducked into defilade. Other side of the hallway had the same cover position. Cerberus probably didn't expect the front hallway to fall this fast.
Fred rolled into the adjacent cover. A metal sheet wall. He peered as fired off his last salvo. The last two Cerberus soldiers went down.
Fred approached the dead bodies. Motion sensors went off. IFF says grey. Unknowns. As Fred approached, he saw people laying on the deck. Dressed in white and black uniform's similar to Shepard's cammy clothes. They had a Cerberus symbol on each should. Hands on their head to avoid fire.
One of the Cerberus technicians looked up. A blonde woman in her mid-twenties.
"It's you," she said.
"Stay down," Fred ordered as he approached the holographic table. He tried looking over the displays, realizing he needed an entry key. He switched to TEAMCOM, "Linda, building clear. Get here when you can."
"Rog."
"You," he said to the woman. "This linked with the local command net?"
The woman stuttered, "we're not allowed-"
He fired a round. Hit the technician nearest to the holo-table. Everyone screamed and gasped as his head was caved in, and blood began to pour onto the floor.
"I'll figure it out myself if I have to, but I'd rather do it in a timely manner. Get on the command network and telemetry database now."
The woman now quickly got up and waved her Omni-tool over the table input. She typed in some sort of access code, and the holographic display turned to various statuses and conditions of the local MAC guns. She moved it aside and brought up a local map.
The woman now quickly got up and waved her Omni-tool over the table input. She typed in some sort of access code, and the holographic display turned to various statuses and conditions of the local MAC guns. She moved it aside and brought up a local map.
All of Cerberus' known positions. Troops, numbers, munitions. And more importantly a map of the complex. This was it.
"Fred!" Linda called out as she entered the room. She nodded to the small, camouflaged observation window. "Incoming!"
Fred looked outside, and saw something in the hurricane.
"We quarantined the planet…" The Cerberus technician said. "How…?"
"What are you talking about?" Fred asked as he raised his rifle back at her.
"We…we cut off all communication access points. We have satellites in orbit turning the planet's ozone layer into a shield. There's no way any…"
Fred saw something emerge from the clouds, transforming tearing wisps into bloody red shadows.
Reaper. Capital ship. Screamed as it crashed onto the surface only a kilometer away.
It began to dig. Fred looked at the complex map, and realized it was digging into what looked like massive holding chambers constructed in the form of O'Neil Cylinders.
…
They watched them.
Watched them gather among the cryo-pods along the ceiling, waiting for the endless Reaper hordes to pass as they lumbered in a singular pain.
Orange and black shadows obstructed most of their bodies. But…Shepard began to see shades of vibrant colors. Purple rainbows shimmering in the burning glow. And bipedal feet clawing in the crevices of the cryo-pods.
They had only revealed themselves because they wanted to. Because they saw Shepard's team among the black oceans.
Liara whispered, "they have no patience-"
"Liara, I will smother you," Wrex whispered back.
But she was right. The oceans will never end, and God knows what the hell is happening above now.
More bodies began to appear from nothing. And only then did Shepard realize they were deactivating active camouflage. Haunting technology they had only seen in limited quantities, mainly that UNSC prowler back on Illium. But the main user of active camo for ground infantry was…
There were flashing green lights, all along the Collector-style cylinder…
"Tali, get the door closed…"
"What?"
"Now."
Without further question she began to work on her Omni-tool. One figure fully appeared. In black almost ceremonial armor etched in various designs and patterns that were hard to fully see at this distance. He seemed more…lively and agile compared to the Spec Ops Elites that watched them earlier. His whole body moved as one as he climbed down a few pods rows, getting a better vantage point.
He held something in his hand. A detonator.
He clicked it.
And those green lights disappeared. At first, something oozed out, then quickly poured down the cylinder walls. A brilliant liquid gel-like substance radiating poisonous smoke and heat. Shepard could feel it even at this distance. Plasma. Pure plasma intermixing with a clear, grey-like substance. The Commander thought it was most likely cryo-material.
And it began to pour like petrified waterfalls. Rain onto the Reaper infantry and melting its biomass and metallic cybernetic implants. The screams erupted. Deafening. Horrifying, as they had become a strangled monster from the people they once were.
Banshee, Cannibal, all the known types screamed as the plasma burned them through. Bright blue gel melted them into absolutely nothing.
Tali closed the doors. And only then did Shepard notice the sweat that had built under his armor. His HUD indicated that metal plates had become burning to the touch, reaching nearly two-hundred degrees.
Thank God he had his helmet on. Shepard hadn't even noticed.
In silence, the team moved back to the shield room, incase the thick metal couldn't hold back the radiating tide. The heat in the room increased ever so slightly. Two hundred degrees. Three hundred. At five hundred level one warning will go off, and kinetic barriers will be reallocated to combat the environmental threat.
There were echoing tides above. Currents of the plasma ocean swished back and forth, eating away at the super metal and concrete. An alarm finally went off. Emergency klaxon and some inaudible automated alerts. Shepard did catch one word: drainage.
Something vibrated above, and the building began to rumble as currents swept away and into whatever the hell can hold pure plasma. It lasted maybe a minute or so. The team stood by. Indicators displayed the room became toxic as fumes began to build up.
A few more minutes or so, and Shepard barely heard the automated alert yell out 'clear.'
The team proceeded forward to the doors. Someone was already welding them open. When they finally cut through, black, scaly hands pushed both doors open.
Elites. Sangheili. Looked to Shepard's crew as they lowered their arms and drooped their heads. Their mandibles were hanging. Rows upon rows of sharp, carnivore teeth were revealed. Their leader, standing before Shepard looked familiar. Now, Shepard could see the details of his ornate armor. Descriptions in an alien language of thousands of past battles, covered in layers of scratches and scars. Its wearer looked like…every other Elite Shepard had encountered. Stoic, with burning anger buried in yellow eyes that shone on black skin. And weary, as if he were in every one of those promulgated battles.
"Human…" It said in the normal deep, Shakespearean accent. However, his voice itself almost sounded strangely familiar. Shepard couldn't quite place it. "It seems you too have stumbled upon the horror."
The team looked each other in silence, not quite sure what he meant.
"I recognize you…" Liara said. "You're…"
"Indeed," the Elite interrupted. "I bare the armor and the mantle until death."
Shepard picked up, "what are you doing here?"
"A question many will be asked this day," the Arbiter replied as he looked at his team of Elite Rangers and Spec Ops personnel. Their eyes were dark blue lights in black shadows. "Our mission is of different merit than what the Humans intend. We are concerned…"
"Concerned…?" Liara reiterated. "Concerned enough to send a strike team personally lead by you?"
The Elites looked at each other in silence. The Arbiter's lieutenant shrugged.
"We know the Demon is here," the Arbiter replied instead. "And we know he seeks the construct, Cortana…
The Arbiter was hesitant, "we know the rest of Humanity will follow. And we know they do not understand."
Shepard looked around at the remnants of the Reapers. Nothing remained, save for small puddles of plasma residue that burned into the metal floor and wisps of poisonous blue smoke. In all, there were maybe fifteen Elites. Shepard realized none of them were wearing Spec Ops armor.
And they all seem on edge. Their fingers were on the trigger.
"What is going on here…?" Shepard asked.
"This group, this Cerberus…." The Arbiter replied. "Is formidable, but alas like many else they are nothing more than fools."
"And you're here to correct that?" Shepard asked as the Elites let the team step out.
The Arbiter didn't reply, turning his back on them. The rest of his team followed into the orange light towards the endless lines of cryo-pod racks.
"In part," the Arbiter replied as his team formed a scouting circle.
Shore party followed in silence. The Elites were strange. Aloof would be the best description. Reclusive at a minimum. Straight-forward at best. At least.
"Can you tell us what's going on here, at least?" Shepard asked.
"The Shadow of Intent…" the Arbiter replied, thinking. "We know of its presence. You have witnessed the horrors Cerberus had performed upon the survivors. Yet still, many remain. Many of them believe the Great War still rages."
"And is that all?" Liara asked. "Survivors?"
Shepard hoped that the Elites wouldn't turn into the UNSC. A stonewall of stubbornness and isolationism.
Barely anything was known about their Elite allies. Martial duty and honor, based on pure inference alone. But until this point, they almost seemed disinterested. Distracted by civil war at home. The Arbiter here meant something happened, something finally serious.
It was hard to read the Elites. Their faces hidden by their helmets, and eyes and mandibles betraying nearly nothing but stoicism and collectiveness. Hesitancy was hard to tell now to think about.
The Arbiter looked down at the Asari. At nearly seven…eight feet tall, they towered even over Wrex. He seemed angry at that fact as he grimaced. To Shepard, it only represents the…brutality that had been hidden on the other side of the Relays.
"No," he quietly answered. "The Humans… The UNSC is more vulnerable than they realize.
"But Cerberus isn't the true threat…"
"What is…?" Shepard asked. "What are we missing? Because the UNSC is determined to name Cerberus and the Illusive Man enemy number one."
"Nay. They are concerned with what he has access to…."
"Halo?" Shepard reiterated.
"I wish they had not obscured the truth from you…" The Arbiter simply said. "Something of this degree can only be shown."
Shepard connected the pieces, or at least was starting to. "Halo…that's not all there is, is there?"
"…Why...was it built?" Liara finished.
"There is an old saying…" The Arbiter began. "A human saying, 'the truth shall set you free.' Let's see if it is so. Come. I shall answer all questions."
…
John barely recognized them… Well, barely recognized them despite the armor.
Yet somehow, below it, he could see them. He instantly knew who they were. And his mind immediately searched back, before the War, before the augmentations – to the fireteams, and squads, and section leaders.
Their armor is old, outdated. Mark IV. Bulkier. Scratched and scarred. Single red stripe traveling down their helmet and on the side of their armor. Orange visors were dim as the white light barely reflected off them. They were dressed in pounds of field gear. Standard olive green Mark IV MJOLNIR armor with red stripes patterning the upper helmet and shoulder pads. They're battered and worn down, with evidence of field repairs and reinforcements. Ammo pouches and stabilizer vests held together by FIBLE straps, zip ties, and electrical tape. They were each armed with silver, very, very old MA5B assault rifles.
John never thought…
"It's been a long time…" John said.
"Say the least," he replied as he looked around, "Osman's team released us from the pods. Then all hell broke loose… It's been thirty years, John."
"I know," the Chief said as he looked at the other two Spartans…. At the final realization.
I had convinced them… The Illusive Man had said.
Thirty years… John remembered reading the briefings, hearing it from Shepard… But… It couldn't be possible. Not with them. Not with us.
John's heart nearly jumped. It felt like he could barely breathe.
"Jerome…" The Master Chief quietly said as he looked back to the Illusive Man's holograph, to Alice and Douglas. Red stripes and olive-green armor began to glimmer in the sterile white light.
"With ONI's assistance, we didn't have to start from the ground up to rebuild our own Spartans. With every step the UNSC took, ONI allowed us to follow right behind. I made the choice to try and…redesign the Spartan-II program, and with that we came up with a few innovations of our own. But… We needed live specimens."
John stepped back and readied his rifle, aiming it right at Red Team. Still, the safety was one. The chamber was empty. What he said didn't make sense…
"Jerome," the Master Chief said. "What is he talking about?"
The three Spartans looked at each other. They were hesitant. They didn't raise their weapons at him.
"John… I know it doesn't look good…" Jerome began, "but you remember what Halsey told us when we were trained. We're Humanity's shield, if-"
"Our duty is to Humanity, to the UNSC," John voice was shaky. John wasn't even sure why he was holding up his weapon. It can't be. "The UNSC has declared Cerberus an enemy. They've violated Cole Protocol and stolen highly valuable hardware and intel. ONI has lied to you."
Jerome looked over to the dead Admiral and the deceased Spartans. Surrounded by bullet casings, they made their last stand probably not knowing the UNSC had abandoned them. Maybe Red Team didn't know. Didn't know what they're doing.
"ONI…?" Jerome mumbled as if he were confused. He looked back to John. "I need you to hand back Osman's recording. Come with us, John. I'll-"
"What the hell did you do?" The Chief yelled, staring past the Spartans and to the Illusive Man.
"It's regrettable. Very few of you would turn with words alone. Action is more persuasive," he said as he finished off another cigarette. "We can't leave yet, John. Despite Admiral Osman's incompetence, she did succeed in permanently damaging this facility beyond repair.
"John, I don't want to hurt Cortana but I will do whatever's necessary to ensure Humanity's goals are met. Humanity may have inherited the Forerunner's secrets, but not the Mantle itself. I want to correct that."
"The other group stopping you…" The Chief concluded. "The Reapers…"
"The Mantle does not stay in storage," the Illusive Man said. "They believe the Mantle dictates the…cultivation of life. Reaping."
John blinked, and turned back to the Spartans, trying his best to block out the Illusive Man, "Jerome, I'm not sure what's going on. But we need to rendezvous back with the UNSC…"
"No… The UNSC has…" Jerome replied, trailing off in an almost robotic fashion. His finger began to tap the assault rifle he was holding.
"When Admiral Osman accidentally discovered our Indoctrination experiments, this is when she realized what she had done," the Illusive Man replied. "When she had... 'moral objections.' I wish Red Team had trained our Spartans. Instead, I had to settle for ONI's IVs. And… I concur with HIGHCOM. They are not true Spartans."
Jerome kept tapping the assault rifle with his finger.
The Chief thought back to the Spirit of Fire, to what he could remember, "there were nine Spartans aboard that ship… They had an army. How?"
"When I found the Spirit of Fire, it was a desolate starship with an AI deep in rampancy. Crazy AIs, like people, are extremely easy to manipulate, John. Her first witnessing our arrival aboard the ship, humans boarding the ship... It was easy to convince her to give us the keys. That 'we,' the 'UNSC,' will take care of the rest, that she did her job and could finally end the suffering: By deleting herself. All the humans aboard were asleep. No one stopped her. This is an oversimplistic explanation.
"With First Contact still in Humanity's memory, to discover the Spirit of Fire made me realize the necessity of Humanity in galactic history. That AI did not implement Cole Protocol, and through years of delicate studying and dissecting, we knew everything we needed to know. We already knew of the UNSC before ONI showed up. Before Human ghosts began to appear aboard the Citadel and other star systems.
"Knowing what was out there, the Reaper threat seemed almost logical to believe. Osman never realized we knew everything. Not until it was too late."
Jerome kept tapping. More rhythmic. There were beats and pauses.
"John, Cortana is still here," the Illusive Man continued. "And she is here because in the end, we want to fix her. This place is the only place we can fix her."
"How?" John yelled. "The UNSC has-"
"The UNSC has the Geth," the Illusive Man distastefully replied. "Through their knowledge continues to grow, I predict it'll take centuries to fully restore her through their methods."
"And you know better?"
"No. But the Forerunners do," the Illusive Man said. "And here we can access their technology."
John looked at Red Team. Their bodies were in a morphic state between combat alert and contortion. Their breathing was unsteady. They looked…panicked.
"Let them go," John said.
"It's not that simple." The Illusive Man said. "My deal is simply: help me secure the Forerunner tech here, and Cortana shall be repaired. I'll gather what I need from her, and afterward, she'll be returned to your care
"And Red Team? Omega?"
Motion detector picked up more movement. Multiple contacts incoming. IFF unknown.
The Illusive Man looked to the catatonic soldiers. "Spartans are...effective. Kai Leng, though lethal, is inadequate and – to put it frankly – incompetent. I cannot simply relinquish these assets.
"Look around… Nothing here survived their onslaught. Spartan-IIIs, Elites, Forerunner Sentinels. Nothing."
"Jerome…" The Chief said, wanting to beg the Spartans to say something opposite to do something. Because…it's impossible. What he said was impossible. They wouldn't do that.
They said nothing.
Cerberus Spartans filed in. Three fireteams' worth. The Chief could hear the hum of the motors within their exoskeletons. They walked slowly. Riot shield Spartans with biotic Spartans right behind them. They however raised their weapons at John.
"You were waiting for me…" John said.
"Indeed," the Illusive Man replied as he lit a new cigarette. "This facility is unsecured. Rampaging survivors of the Shadow of Intent still believe the War had never ended and surviving crews of the Spirit of Fire are happy to oblige them of that delusion."
Other survivors? The way he said it implied they weren't indoctrinated. Maybe there's a way to get Red Team out. They're still there, they have to be-
"There is no guarantee the UNSC can… 'cure,' Cortana, John," the Illusive Man added. "You understand the power of the Forerunners, however. You know what they're capable of. When I conversed with the Didact-"
"The Didact," John replied. "He doesn't exactly like us."
The Illusive Man didn't say anything. Didn't continue this time. He took a long drag of his cigarette and looked away. He almost looked confused. He remained silent.
"John…" Jerome said. He was still tapping… Wait…
"Indoctrination is a tricky tool," the Illusive Man switched subjects, looking back at the Master Chief.
John focused on the tapping. It was...a musical tune. Morse code embedded...
Olly Olly Oxen Free.
Something moved, under the bodies. A Keeper threw a dead Turian on top of the pile.
The body slipped into the center of the pile. The movement became more erratic.
A Keeper approached with a dead Asari. A biotic C-SEC officer.
On top of the pile. It fell into the center. The movement became more volatile.
Another Keeper drew closer, with another dead body. Alliance Marine. Off-duty.
Something emerged from the shadows, at the edge of the pile and the dim red tunnel lights.
It grabbed the Keeper. Dragged it, along with the body it was carrying, into the maw.