In Earth-317, the mission that once defined the futures of Alex Mason and Frank Woods took a drastically different turn. Raul Menendez, the man responsible for so much pain and loss, was the true Nexus target. But in this universe, Woods never made the devastating mistake of shooting Mason. Instead, both men worked together to end Menendez's reign of terror, finally putting him down for good.

With Menendez dead, Woods found a rare moment of peace, free from the guilt and regret that had haunted him in other timelines. Mason, alive and well, remained by his side, ready for whatever came next.

Their latest mission, however, brought them face-to-face with an old adversary: Noriega, the man who had betrayed them in the past. Now, they were tasked with bringing him down. The mission carried echoes of their previous encounters—bitter reminders of the deceit and chaos he had caused—but this time, they were determined to put an end to his schemes once and for all.

Though Woods carried the weight of the past, knowing Mason was alive had kept him grounded, allowing him to focus on the mission at hand without the looming cloud of tragedy that once defined their story.

Frank Woods and Alex Mason crouched in the shadows outside an abandoned factory. The moon cast an eerie glow over the dilapidated building, and the wind rustled through the nearby trees, adding to the tension. Both men were armed with their signature weapons, silencers attached: Woods with a silenced AK-47, and Mason with a silenced M16 rifle.

"Not gonna lie," Woods whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "This place gives me the creeps."

Mason, crouched beside him, nodded, keeping his eyes on the building. "Me too," he whispered back. "Stay focused, Woods. We've got a job to do."

Moving with the precision of seasoned operatives, they slipped through gaps in the fence and took cover behind debris, always careful to stay in the shadows. They communicated with Hudson through their earpieces, the quiet hum of static underscoring the mission's urgency.

"Hudson, we're in position. Confirm Noriega's location," Woods said in a low voice.

"Satellite imagery confirms he was last seen inside the main building," Hudson's voice crackled in their ears. "Stay sharp."

"Copy that," Mason responded.

Woods frowned. "Hudson better be right. Can't wait for this asshole to be somebody else's problem."

They advanced through the factory's grounds with perfect unison, using hand signals to communicate. Their years of experience together were evident in their flawless coordination. As they approached the first guard patrolling near the entrance, Woods signaled for Mason to take the lead.

Mason moved in silently, drawing his knife. With practiced ease, he crept up behind the guard, covered his mouth, and swiftly slit his throat, gently lowering the body to the ground. Woods followed, eyes scanning for any other threats.

"Clear," Woods whispered.

They pressed forward, using the cover of darkness to their advantage. Near a rusty old truck, they encountered two more guards. Woods signaled Mason to take the one on the left while he took the one on the right. Without hesitation, they moved in sync, each delivering a silent takedown.

"Targets down," Mason whispered.

As they advanced further, they spotted a group of three guards near a stack of crates. Mason surveyed their formation, spotting a weak point. He signaled Woods, and they split up, moving to flank the group from both sides. Woods tossed a small rock, the soft clatter drawing the guards' attention just long enough for Mason to move in.

Mason was swift, taking out the first guard with a quick stab. Woods followed, subduing the second guard with a chokehold. The third guard turned, eyes widening in shock, but before he could react, Mason was already upon him, silencing him with a precise strike.

Frank Woods crouched low, his voice barely above a whisper. "Nice work."

Beside him, Alex Mason exhaled, his heartbeat still pounding from the close call. "Shit, that was too close."

Woods smirked, his whisper carrying a hint of dark humor. "Would have had the whole factory on our asses."

They moved forward cautiously, every sound amplifying the tension in the quiet corridors. Their senses were heightened as they approached a guard standing near a side entrance. Woods signaled for Mason to cover him. Without hesitation, Woods crept forward and tapped the guard on the shoulder. The guard turned, confused, only for Woods to deliver a knockout punch, dropping him instantly.

"Entrance secured," Woods whispered.

Mason's voice crackled through the comms. "Copy. Moving in on your position."

They slipped into the building, where the shadows seemed to swallow them whole. The interior was dark and oppressive, the air heavy with the stench of metal and oil. They moved deeper, sticking to the walls, dispatching the guards they encountered with swift, silent precision. The lack of coordination and discipline among the enemies was obvious.

"These guys are definitely not trained soldiers," Woods muttered, his voice low.

"Doesn't matter," Mason replied. "We find Noriega, we get out."

They continued until they reached a hallway, where two guards patrolled back and forth. Woods held up a hand, signaling for Mason to create a diversion. Mason nodded, picking up a small pebble from the floor and tossing it down the hall. The noise made the guards turn their heads, their attention fixed on the sound.

In an instant, Woods and Mason moved in. Woods grabbed the first guard, his arm wrapping around the man's neck in a chokehold. The guard struggled briefly before going limp. Mason, in one fluid motion, struck the second guard in the neck, incapacitating him silently.

"Keep moving," Woods whispered, his eyes darting toward the next doorway.

They reached a door labeled "Office." Woods inhaled deeply, steadying himself before giving the signal.

"On three. One... two... three."

They burst through the door, weapons raised, but the room was empty. Papers littered the desk, and maps were strewn about haphazardly. A single flickering monitor cast eerie shadows across the room.

Mason gritted his teeth. "Hudson, we got nothing here. Looks like Noriega moved."

"Understood," Hudson's voice came over the earpiece. "Keep searching. He can't be far."

Woods moved to the desk, scanning the scattered papers. His gaze landed on one in particular—a map with a location circled in red. "Mason, look at this. A secondary location."

Mason nodded, determination hardening his features. "Good find. Let's move."

They left the office, creeping through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps soundless on the concrete floor. Soon, they entered a large storage area. Ahead, a group of guards stood chatting, oblivious to the two seasoned operatives observing them from behind a stack of boxes.

Woods eyed the guards' weapons—crude firearms mixed with unfamiliar energy-based technology. He frowned, whispering, "What the hell? These weapons... they're not Noriega's usual gear."

Mason scanned the scene, his voice tinged with concern. "You're right. Something's off here."

Woods' frustration bubbled up. "Shit. This just got more complicated. Should have known Hudson was hiding something from us."

Mason placed a hand on his shoulder. "Focus, Woods. We still have a mission to complete."

Nodding, Woods led the way, their military skills and instincts guiding them as they moved through the factory with the stealth and precision only years of experience could bring. They made their way to a large room filled with machinery, where more guards patrolled. Woods and Mason took cover, scanning the area.

"This is it," Woods whispered. "Location spotted."

"Check your fire," Mason reminded him. "Noriega might have hostages in there."

They moved swiftly, taking down guards one by one with lethal efficiency. Their actions were a blur—quick, silent, deadly. Soon, they reached a door at the back of the room. Voices echoed from within. Woods signaled Mason to prepare for a breach.

"On three," Woods whispered. "One... two... three."

They burst into the room, weapons raised, ready for anything. What they found was unexpected.

In the center of the room, Agent Jonesy stood beside Avery J Johnson. Johnson loomed over a Raider Leader tied to a chair, his face a mask of intensity as he interrogated the captive. The Raider, bruised and battered, trembled under Johnson's fierce gaze.

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Woods lowered his weapon slightly, exchanging a glance with Mason. This mission had just taken a very different turn.

Frank Woods' voice rang out, sharp and filled with suspicion. "What the hell?"

Jonesy and Johnson turned towards the door, startled by the sudden outburst. In an instant, Mason and Woods had their silenced rifles trained on the two strangers.

Woods took a step forward, his voice rising in anger. "Who are you people?!"

Sergeant Major Avery J Johnson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Easy there, soldier," he said, his voice calm but authoritative.

Mason's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, his rifle unwavering. "Don't move!" he barked. "Shit! Where the hell is Noriega?"

Agent Jonesy, ever the optimist, stepped forward cautiously. "Oh, Noriega is—"

"Don't move, asshole!" Mason cut him off, his voice laced with anger.

Keeping his weapon trained on them, Mason quickly activated his earpiece.

"Hudson, we got a situation here," Mason said, his tone low and serious.

Hudson's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Did you apprehend Noriega?"

"Negative," Mason replied. "He's not here. And it looks like he never was."

Hudson's voice came through again, calm but urgent. "What's your status?"

"We've got three unknown targets," Mason said, eyeing Johnson and Jonesy. "Possibly not from here. Need instructions ASAP."

"Standby, Mason," Hudson's voice came through with a note of uncertainty. "We're figuring this out."

Mason muttered under his breath, "Dammit."

Woods, still holding his rifle, studied Jonesy and Johnson with sharp eyes, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Did Hudson send you two?" Woods asked, his voice filled with suspicion.

Mason scoffed. "I doubt it. Hudson wouldn't send lackeys to do our job."

Woods' temper flared. "Then I suggest you two start fucking talking! Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"

Jonesy held his hands up in a gesture of peace. "My name is Agent Jonesy, and we're not from around here. Look, there's a lot to explain, and it may sound insane, but we're here because there's a threat—not just to this universe, but to the multiverse."

Mason squinted, trying to process what Jonesy was saying. He glanced at Woods, hoping for some sign of understanding but found only confusion mirrored in his partner's face. He turned back to Jonesy, his patience wearing thin.

"What?" Mason asked, his voice edged with annoyance.

Woods, always the more direct of the two, stepped forward, his voice hard and menacing. "Cut the fictional shit! That ain't gonna cut it. You better tell me the truth, or I'll put a bullet in both of you. I'm not playing games with you."

Johnson, calm and steady, stepped in between Woods and Jonesy. "Stand down, soldier," he said, his voice level. "I'm Sergeant Major Avery Junior Johnson, UNSC. Just like you, I'm a soldier."

Mason wasn't convinced. "Prove it."

Slowly, Johnson reached for his uniform, showing the name and rank embroidered on his chest. "See for yourself. Name and rank, right here."

Woods and Mason glanced at the uniform, their eyes scanning the details. Though still skeptical, the hostility in the room lessened slightly. Mason gave Woods a subtle signal to hold off for a moment.

"Alright, Johnson," Mason said, his voice firm but less aggressive. "Talk."

Johnson nodded, meeting Mason's gaze. "Between you and me, I don't fully understand all this multiverse stuff myself, but here's what I do know: there's a greater threat coming. Bigger than anything we've faced. And we need to be ready."

Woods, never one to back down from a confrontation, stepped closer until he was almost nose-to-nose with Johnson. His voice was a low growl. "You think I'm buying this shit? You better have more than fancy words and titles, Johnson. I've seen enough to know when someone's trying to pull one over on me."

Johnson didn't flinch, meeting Woods' fiery gaze with calm resolve. "I get it, Woods. You're a no-nonsense kind of guy. So am I. But this is real. There's an enemy out there that's bigger than Menendez, bigger than any war we've fought."

Woods' eyes flashed with anger. "How the hell do you know about Menendez?"

Johnson remained calm, his tone unwavering. "I've done my homework. We're up against threats that span multiple realities. Menendez is just one piece of a much larger puzzle."

Mason, sensing the tension rising, stepped in between the two, trying to defuse the situation before it exploded.

Alex Mason kept his eyes on Frank Woods, trying to defuse the tension that filled the room. "Woods, let's hear him out. We didn't get this far by ignoring intel, no matter how crazy it sounds."

Woods clenched his jaw, his frustration evident, but after a moment, he relented. "You got five minutes, Johnson. Convince me."

Agent Jonesy stepped forward, his voice tinged with urgency. "Look, the multiverse is real. We've seen worlds collide, realities shatter. We're part of a group trying to stop it from getting worse. If we don't work together, everything we know could be destroyed."

Woods turned his glare on Jonesy, the impatience boiling over. "I've had it with your sci-fi shit. Start making sense, or I start shooting."

Avery J. Johnson stepped closer, eyes locked with Woods'.

"Woods, think of it like this: imagine every enemy you've ever faced, every battle you've fought. Now multiply that by a thousand. That's what's coming. And if we don't stop it, we're all dead."

Woods' eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his rifle. But something in Johnson's words got through. A flicker of understanding crossed his face, though it was clear he was still wrestling with it.

"Alright, Johnson. You got my attention, for now. But if this turns out to be a waste of time, you'll wish Menendez was still around to save your ass."

Johnson's expression was stern. "It's not a waste of time. And you'll see soon enough. We need fighters like you, Woods—even you, Mason. This war, it's gonna take everything we've got."

Woods lowered his weapon slowly, his expression still hard and untrusting. Mason followed his lead, though he kept a wary eye on Jonesy and Johnson, unsure what to make of their wild claims.

Suddenly, Jason Hudson's voice crackled through their earpieces. "Mason, Woods. We have a situation. I'm detecting multiple targets heading toward your area. Looks like they're heavily armed."

Mason and Johnson moved to the window, scanning the surroundings with their soldier's instincts. Mason spotted a group of unknown figures approaching in the distance. Their ragged appearance matched the guards they had encountered earlier, but something was off.

"Shit," Mason muttered. "Woods, eyes up—we got company. A whole lot of 'em."

Woods quickly joined Mason at the window, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the approaching threat. "They're not Noriega's usual men. Who are they?"

Mason remained composed, checking his weapon to ensure it was ready for the fight ahead. He glanced at Jonesy, who was fidgeting with his device, and at Johnson, who stood by the window, his focus locked on the approaching figures.

Woods' patience snapped as he turned to Jonesy. "I said, who the hell are they?"

Jonesy responded quickly, though his calm demeanor suggested he had been anticipating this. "They're Raiders. From another world."

Woods scowled, clearly irritated by the explanation. He shot a glare at Jonesy, his temper flaring again. "You better be right, Jonesy."

Mason, still watching the figures approach, spoke up. "What the hell are they doing here? These people do not belong here."

Jonesy hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice uncertain. "It has to be Cortana. She's from another world."

Woods snapped back at him. "Who is that?"

Jonesy, knowing the situation was growing more dire by the second, dismissed the question for now. "I'll explain later. Right now, we need to focus."

Mason turned his attention back to the incoming forces, his soldier's instincts taking over. He began counting the targets, analyzing their movement patterns. Time was running out, and whatever was coming, they needed to be ready.

The atmosphere in the abandoned building was tense. Mason crouched low, peering through the broken window at the group advancing on their position. He turned to Woods, his voice barely a whisper.

"Looks like at least a dozen, moving in fast. We'll need to hold our ground."

Jonesy stood nearby, his device glowing faintly as he scanned for more intel. Meanwhile, Johnson positioned himself by the window, his seasoned eyes narrowing as he analyzed the situation with the calm precision of a soldier who had faced countless battles.

"I've seen this kind of movement before," Johnson said quietly, his tone steady. "They're organized, but not disciplined. Reminds me of fighting Elites. There—see that guy? He's their leader."

Mason and Woods followed Johnson's gaze to the Raider leader standing further down the street. A crazed-looking man with a wild gleam in his eyes, he held a hostage tightly in his grip. The hostage's face was bloodied, his eyes wide with terror.

Johnson's voice remained calm but firm. "He looks dangerous. I suggest we focus on him."

The Raider leader's voice suddenly boomed across the street, loud and menacing.

"Y'all pieces of shits better back off, or this one's gonna get it!" the man shouted, his grip on the hostage tightening.

Mason's breath caught in his throat as recognition dawned on him. The hostage was none other than Noriega.

"Shit," Mason muttered under his breath. "He's got Noriega!"

Quickly, Mason activated his earpiece, his voice urgent as he contacted Hudson.

"Hudson, we have eyes on Noriega. He's a hostage, being held by the leader of an unknown group. According to intel, they're called Raiders and they're not from here."

Hudson's voice crackled over the comms, sounding confused. "Raiders? Who the hell are they?"

"It's a long story," Mason replied, exasperation creeping into his tone. "Right now, our main concern is capturing Noriega. What's the play here, Hudson?"

There was a pause before Hudson responded, his tone more serious this time. "We're gonna have to improvise. Your new mission is to secure the package. Get Noriega out of there, alive."

Woods, overhearing the conversation, scoffed loudly, his annoyance evident. "The hell did he just say? Secure the package? You gotta be shitting me! We have the target—let us smoke the bastard."

Hudson's voice remained firm. "Negative, Woods. The mission parameters have changed. Our priority now is to secure Noriega and get him out safely. Adapt and overcome."

Woods gritted his teeth, shooting a frustrated glance at Mason. "Shit! I'm getting real tired of this, Mason."

Mason's voice was calm but resolute. "Can't agree more, Woods. But for now, we focus on the task at hand. We'll deal with the rest later. Let's get Noriega and get out of here."

Woods exhaled sharply, nodding despite his frustration. His grip on his rifle tightened as they prepared to move.

"Hold up," Johnson interrupted, his eyes scanning the street. "We got more company."

Mason and Woods looked out the window again. Several more Raiders were approaching—this time clad in power armor.

Mason frowned. "What the hell are they wearing?"

Johnson's expression darkened. "I'm not sure, but it looks similar to Master Chief's armor."

Woods raised an eyebrow. "Who's Master Chief?"

Johnson glanced at him briefly. "You'll get to meet him later, once this is over."

Before the conversation could continue, the Raider leader's voice rang out again, cutting through the air like a knife.

"I heard you boys are looking for Noriega!" Crazy Jack who is voiced by Raymond Cruz shouted with a deranged laugh. "Well, here he is—alive and breathing. Now how 'bout a deal? You give me back my man, and I'll hand over Noriega. Or... I just shoot your man because I'm bored."

Woods, Mason, and Johnson exchanged tense glances. The situation was spiraling quickly. Woods clenched his jaw, his anger barely contained.

"This guy's just a perfect example of what an evil person looks like," Johnson muttered grimly. "And it doesn't look pretty."

Woods growled under his breath. "We don't negotiate with terrorists, asshole."

Mason stepped forward, his voice sharp and aggressive. "You want to live? Hand over Noriega now, or we turn this place into a war zone."

Crazy Jack's wild laugh echoed through the street. He tightened his grip on Noriega, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, you boys got some balls, I'll give you that," Crazy Jack sneered. "But out here, you're outnumbered and outgunned. You think you can intimidate me? You ain't shit! So take you and your threats and piss off!"

Woods' eyes flashed with rage, but Mason raised a hand, signaling him to stay calm. The tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Both sides were ready to strike at a moment's notice, but Mason knew they needed to play this smart.

The standoff continued, the stakes higher than ever. One wrong move could send everything spiraling into chaos.