Julián looked out over the sea of destruction below him, rifle in hand.  Reach, once the pinnacle of UNSC military strength.  20 MAC guns strong, and that was saying something.  _First the Covenant's glassing, and now this_.  In a matter of days, a rehabilitated  planet had fallen as far as it ever had.  Bodies festered, littering the streets.  Blue and red blood mixed with the distinct yellow contaminant spewed by the flood, painting the sidewalks.  It had been a massacre.  Well, massacre didn't quite do it justice.  At least _we're_ still fighting back.  For perhaps the hundredth time that day, he slid back the bolt of his rifle to check the barrel for a cartridge.  Knowing it was pointless, he thought, _Old habits die hard_.  A gleaming .454 caliber bullet lay waiting in the chamber.  Julián sighed.  _Ay santo._  He still harbored the hope of setting things right, saving as many as he could, as did the others.  Seeing a scene such as this did anything but reassure him.  At least, for the time being, they were safe.  

This particular rooftop had provided good lookout for long enough.  The building had proved fairly defensible as well, or so they thought.  The silence gave way to a loud thudding.  Julián  leaped towards the rooftop door, flinging it open hard enough to snap hinges.  He sprinted three flights down to where the others were, drawing his M6D in the process.  He shuffled in a clip from his pack.  At the end of the stairs, Julián opened a second door and sprinted down a corridor.  He arrived at the scene in time to see an eight foot figure in shining armor down a flood combat form.  The fight had already ceased.  To Vorro, he said "¿Estás bien?"  _Are you ok?_