- TPGBaseOfSpades
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- Exalted Legendary Member
Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening
Nothing, that's all there is. Nothing, for just a split second, you are overwhelmed by nothingness. Pure white blinds you, deafens you, captures you. For one second, you are nothing, free. But it won't last forever, it never does, you are thrown back into your shell. But that doesn't phase you, nothing does, because you are a SPARTAN.
You grasp the dirt below you, take in the fresh air and the scent of death, reality welcomes you with open arms. You start where you left off, Wraith, civilians, your rifle in front of you, your job isn't finished. You spring to your feet, kick the rifle into the air and run. The carnage continues to surround you, and just like it welcomed you, you welcome it, arms open. In your open arms lands your rifle, and in front of you is your foe: The Wraith. Civilians run by it, unharmed, it's priority is something much more important: You. You aim the rifle at the mortar, waiting for fortune to call your name. You hear her beautiful voice and seize the moment. The Wraith turns, to face you, trying to seize its moment. But that moment has passed, and
The Wraith spews hot plasma over itself, devouring the driver and any faith with him. Faith, unlike the driver, cannot vanish so easily. You roll onto your stomach and leap to your feet, you face Faith incarnate, its gold armor shines in the divine light of its gods. Fury and passion overwhelm you as your rifle is knocked out of your hands. It slams against the ground, discharging in anger. The missionary moves and so do you. For a while, you and it play this game. His holy blade flies next to you, and fortune sings. It glares at you, eyes filled with rage and fury. It feels raw anger, and then nothing.
You return the pistol to it's home and look at your prize, the grave of your foe. You notice nothing, no pools of plasma greet you, not a single drop. You notice the truth, you look and see the pieces, scorch marks, shrapnel, and pools of crimson. You fall limp, this wasn't supposed to happen. You are a SPARTAN, you never make mistakes. Reason tells you that this wasn't your fault, but disappointment overwhelms any sort of comforting logic. Superiors would later shine light on this, that it truly wasn't your fault, but it doesn't matter. You still sit there and look at what you've done. You want to be nothing again, to be anything but this, but you can't. You are-
Awake. Bile fills your mouth, all your senses are in unnatural agony. The cryogen tube opens, and you step out. You take your helmet off and vomit. Static fills your helmet below you, "SPARTAN, gather your weaponry, we've reached our destination. You're dropping in half an hour." You rest your helmet on your head, and as you leave, the voice returns: "Welcome to your grave, SPARTAN."
Chapter 2: Preparation makes perfect
You take your time walking through the metal halls, carefully noticing and appreciating every wonder that you pass by. Each nook and cranny of this ship has a purpose, and as this is the last time you will walk the halls of a fine ship like this, you have decided to admire every single one. You were debriefed about this mission more times than you can count, you know every step of the operation and exactly what you are expected to do: Succeed and die. At each debriefing the AI's present have given your chance of survival, all say 0%. But you are not worried about this, you have lived what you believe to be a good and fulfilling life.
You arrive at your destination, your room. You open the door, walk inside, look at it for the last time. You kneel down below your bed and grab a large metal crate. The crate can only be opened by a series of passwords followed by the swipe of a key-card, but you don't have time for that. Instead, you decide to have a little fun, you raise your fist and simply punch through the crate, creating a large gaping hole. You pull a army green sack from the box and open it, revealing its contents, your sniper rifle and shotgun.
These are your children, created by your delicate hands for exactly what you needed. The shotgun is the size of your arm, semi-automatic, stock-less, and clip-fed. It is the greatest short range weapon system you have ever seen. But the favorite child would be your daughter Aries. You cannot even begin to go into how much you love this rifle. You place Aries back into the sack, and place the sack on your back. Your trusty shotgun, however, lies on your right leg.
You leave your room and walk to your next destination, your new MJOLNIR suit, custom built, for you. As you walk down the halls you pass a large glass window, and for once, you appreciate the beautiful wonder that is space. Yet the trip was short, and you have already reached the room. Waiting for your are several technicians, and a metal table. You are told to lie down on the table, and wait. You do so and watch the a doctor in the room place a small tube into your helmet. Gas fills the air around you, and you start to feel tired. Drowsiness overwhelms you, and you fall asleep.
[Edited on 10.20.2010 10:02 PM PDT]