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This is the story of Jason Brandos, your average newspaper photographer who has led a difficult life. Born after the Human-Covenant War, he has run into a series of unfortunate events that have shaped him to be an isolationist alcoholic who barely clings to life in the post-war world. However, the scoop of a lifetime presents itself and makes him an overnight sensation. Unfortunately, his story causes a chain reaction of events that will spin his life like he never imagined. Some secrets are better left unreported.
Chapter I: New Dawn Over Humanity
New York City, November 27th, 2610
The shutter-bulb of Jason Brandos' camera flashed with white, hot intensity as it reflected off the museum displays glass. He was visiting The Museum of Humanity in New York City for his job at the New York Ambassador newspaper, his task was getting pictures of the museums interior. It was an amazing place, construction began in 2607 and finished in the early month's of 2610. The halls of the building were a shadowy black to symbolize the dark times of humanities past, but the deeper you got in the museum the whiter the walls became, a symbol of hope and perseverance. Pieces of human history decked the displays, it ranged from ancient tribal items from prehistoric times, to Victorian paintings, and even 20th century astronomical equipment.
However, the crown jewel of the Museum of Humanity was it's exhibit chronicling the Human-Covenant War. Guns, vehicles, everything war related made it's way to the building and now stood on permanent display. Jason snapped a picture of a Scorpion tank, armor from a Brute soldier, and a photo of the world-famous diorama titled "The John-117 Monument", a memorial to the fallen Spartan-II commando of the monument's namesake.
"Wow," Jason sighed in disbelief, "This is simply breathtaking."
Jason took multiple photos of the diorama as he felt were needed, gazed at it once more, and moved on. The Human-Covenant War still had far-reaching effects over 50 years after it concluded, numerous memorials, tributes, and, what it could very well be called, propaganda littered every major city left intact on Earth. All Jason knew about the war was what his parents, retired Marines, told him and the lessons he was taught in school. Born in 2584, Jason entered the world over 30 years after the war was over. Throughout his life he was told of the bold sacrifice the brave men and women of the UNSC gave to allow him the freedom to live in a world rebuilding from a devastating genocide that left numerous humans dead. He was raised to remember planets like Harvest, Jericho VII, and Reach, all destroyed by the monstrous Covenant Empire.
For a long time he accepted everything he was told, but some things he found hard to swallow. For instance, why was the significance of the Sangheili, known as Elites by most people, so downplayed by all historical sources? Jason understood that for the greater half of the century they had fought the Elites, among other extraterrestrial forces, in bitter conflict, but if it were not for the Elites, he knew very well he wouldn't be alive. Also odd was the amount of classified information that organizations like ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence, still horded to themselves. Fifty plus years after the war they had still not loosened their iron grip on precious information. Why was the Kenyan city of Voi destroyed by allied-Sangheili forces? What was the purpose of a disc-shaped structure nestled in the charred remains of New Mombasa? Where exactly did the Spartan-II Project originate? That last question perplexed Jason the most, the Spartan-IIs were known during the tail-end of the war, but any information on them was vague, obviously fabricated, or censured by, you guessed it, ONI.
For now, he had no time to wonder about such post-war mysteries, he had a deadline to keep, these pictures wouldn't print themselves. Outside the museum, the sun was beginning to set over New York City. In the distance, a new statue stood alongside the famous Statue of Liberty, still standing after so many years. It immortalized a Spartan, sans the iconic helmet, staring off into oblivion with a heroic outlook. Below the great statute stood the miniature sculpted figures of children clinging to the sage colored Dues Ex Machina in hope. The sun created a vibrant gold color as it's rays reflected off the massive statue. Beautiful.
Remembering his deadline, Jason hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the New York Ambassador building in Times Square. The building was an architectural dream and symbol of human pride, built from the metal of the New Mombasa Space Tether, the orbital elevator that fell during the Battle of Earth, it showed that humanity could rebuild. Now it stood as a monumental portion of New York's skyline and it's biggest supplier of news. Paying his cab, he stepped out of the car and into the building. Anxiously he ascended the elevator to the office of his boss, Jack Peterkin, to drop off his photos.
Many employees joked about Mr. Peterkin's office, his heavy Sweet William's Cigar smoke and shining crimson walls earned his domain the appropriate nickname "The Inferno". on casually walked into "The Inferno" and was immediately assaulted with cigar smoke. Still, he managed to reach Mr. Peterkin's desk.
"I got the photographs you wanted sir," Jason hacked, his lungs still adjusting to the smoke, "Do you like them?"
The ex-Staff Sergeant clicked through the camera's digital storage and gave the young photographer a warm smile.
"Brandos," Peterkin said gruffly due to his worn out voice after years of braking at recruits and smoking, "You did a damn fine job capturing the Museum. My boy these will do just fine for the article about the 58th Anniversary of the war coming up."
"Thank you Mr. Peterkin," Jason said pleased with his success, "Need me to drop these off to Scotty at the printing press before I head home?"
"Yes yes do so," ordered Peterkin returning to his grizzled veteran voice, "Oh and Happy Birthday."
Jason was shocked his boss remembered his birthday, "How did you know it was my brithday sir?"
"Oh word spreads around and I have everyone marked on my calendar," Peterkin pointed to the simple calendar pinned to his wall, "I'll slide you a little bonus in the mail Jason, get yourself something nice."
"Thank you sir I will," Jason said gratefully as he departed "The Inferno" and down the building. Hailing a cab once more, he headed to the Ivory Tower Apartments so he could finally get some rest. Entering his basic adobe, he collapsed onto his couch and left the lights off.
Glumly he said to himself, "Happy Birthday to me my ass."
Unfortunately, this was not a day to celebrate, at least not for him. His parents were dead, they were killed in a fatal bus accident on vacation in London and making him an orphan. It was the typically story, dead parents, abusive foster parents, kicked out of the system at 18 and forced to live on the streets. Only recently had his luck improved because of his photographer job, a decent living that helped him out plenty, but November 27th wasn't a happy day for him.
He got up, walked to the fridge, and grabbed a cold, pain numbing bottle of cognac and drank himself to sleep.
[Edited on 02.14.2010 2:04 PM PST]