Disclaimer: I do not own Halo, or Bungie. For that matter, I do not own Red vs. Blue, either- that belongs to Rooster Teeth. Why did I add Rooster Teeth? Well… I'll let 154's intro explain that one.
Spade: Why would I do that? melee
Me: Okay, never mind. All will be explained in time… oooOOOoooOOOooo…
Chapter 1: Awakening
INJURY REPORT: SEVERE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 21
SUGGESTED COURSE OF ACTION: TERMINATION
"SPARTAN-IIs don't give up, though…" The medic looked at the cryotube in front of him. Inside was stowed something more mysterious than anything he had ever seen. When his squad, Team 9 (or Cloud Nine as it was sometimes called) had been on patrol in Sidewinder, all of a sudden this had just dropped, literally, out of the sky.
No-one knew exactly why it had landed where it did, but some thought it might have been fated to land there. And ever since Sierra-117 had disappeared somewhere in deep space, this SPARTAN was officially the UNSC's last remaining operational SPARTAN-II. He was dressed in an odd Mark VI/S armor painted silver with brown shoulders and a brown stripe on the arm and leg. Above the left shoulder was a single red symbol- the Ace of Spades.
When they had dropped on Sidewinder, no-one had expected anything, but anything had happened right in front of them- like the heavens belched a SPARTAN right in front of them. So, they ended up dragging the locked suit back to their dropship and flying back to the frigate in orbit, Wings of Silver. The crew quickly transferred him to Medical and dropped him into stasis.
That was all three days ago, and the point was- now the SPARTAN was here, and he could help. With what, the team was unsure, but they would surely find out.
The scientist considered turning away from the vital monitor to watch the highlight reel for the 2553 NFL Super Bowl when the monitor began to beep.
The scientist's eyes were suddenly wide open. "What the…" He was looking at the weirdest anomaly he had ever seen in his five years of service.
INJURY REPORT: SEVERE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 21
INJURY REPORT: MODERATE- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 54
INJURY REPORT: NO INJURIES- CHANCE OF SURVIVAL 100
Sure enough, the sounds of movement came from inside the tube. There was also groggy cursing. "Agh… What the fuck… Open this damn lid!" A fist lashed out inside it, and the triple-reinforced glass plate on the front of the tube shattered like rice paper. A gauntleted fist flexed around, then cleared a hole. The damaged armor of SPARTAN-154 soon popped through.
"Hot damn… I'd better report this to command." The scientist turned in his swivel chair and slammed open the door to the catwalk. However, he didn't make the distance before 154's head swiveled in his direction. "HEY!" His voice rasped through a dry throat.
"Err… Yeah?" The scientist answered, shuddering already.
"I need to know something…"
'Oh great; I'm gonna get knocked already…' The scientist started whimpering.
"You know where the mess is?"
"The mess. Mess Hall. That's spelled M-E-S-S-H-A-L-L…"
"Err… Out that door and take a right."
"Thanks." 154 raised a hand in salute and walked out of the room. The door hissed open in response. As soon as it hissed shut again, the scientist collapsed.
Meanwhile, in the mess hall…
"So. I was talking to the cap'n today outside in Sidewinder, see?" One Marine was talking to another in the Mess hall. The speaker was female, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail and grey eyes.
"Yeah. What about?" The other soldier turned to meet his counterpart's gaze. This marine had brown hair in a crew cut, a goatee and blue eyes.
"Same as always. I'm trying to get the squad out of patrols in minus ten, windchill minus twenty at best, in a blizzard."
"What'd he say?"
"What d'you think? He laughed in my face, called me a pussy and walked away- who the hell is that, and why is his armor so fucked up?" The woman stated bluntly, watching as a 7'5" man dressed in bulky, damaged MJOLNIR Mk.6 VI/S minus the helmet, with gunmetal eyes and raven hair. Despite the serious, weighty aura that most would throw like a large rock, he had a smirking expression on his face and an all-around happy go lucky demeanor. He made his way to the duo.
"Pardon me, you two. Sergeant Major Alvin Spade. What's today's lunch?" The female stared at Spade with a look of shock on her face.
"What? Okay, no comment from you? Fine, Van Dyke, what's on the menu?" Spade turned to the marine sitting across from the woman, who seemed to be gasping for breath like a dying fish.
"Out with it man, I'm freaking hungry."
"Corned beef and cabbage. Side of mashed potatoes, a chocolate chip cookie and orange juice."
"Does the juice have pulp?"
"Yes sir, so-sorry sir, we ran out of no pulp last week."
"I'll just make due. Thanks, dude." Spade put a hand on the man's shoulder and nodded.
"…" The female looked at the male. The male did exactly the same thing, then in unison, said- "Was that SPARTAN-154?"
The reply came from halfway across the room, in the lunch line. "Yes, it is!"
Both marines looked extremely confused, possibly as though punched in the gut.
"Pardon me, 154-"
"Call me Al!"
"-Al, but weren't you just put into cryo three hours ago?" 154 quickly advanced through the line and took a seat on one of the rickety benches in front of the lunch table.
"I suppose I was. That would explain the dry throat and the frost on my armor…"
"But you had a 21 percent chance of survival! How the hell are you up and walking around in a matter of hours?" 154 merely turned around in his seat and rolled down the collar of his titanium alloy under-armor. A lump roughly the width of a golf ball beeped red in the back of his neck.
"… There goes my appetite." The girl said. 154 rolled the neck up again.
"Portable life restoration unit. It is capable of meta-healing the user. Literally, bringing the dead back to life."
"Sounds too good to be true." The man said, looking at 154 intently.
"It is. You only get three good uses out of these goddamn things; I wasted one falling out of the back of a frigate." Spade laughed calmly.
"And after those three uses are up?"
"Every time the unit meta-heals after its initial three uses, the host body begins to deteriorate steadily. Need I say more?" The marine shook his head in disagreement.
"I thought so. Well, nice meeting you." to everyone's surprise, Spade had already finished his entire meal. Just as he stood up, the intercom crackled to life. "SPARTAN-154, please report to the commander's office. SPARTAN-154 to the commander's office."
"Damn. No rest for the weary…" 154 trudged off to the commander's office, not knowing his career was about to take a drastic change. Forever.