Hey, everyone. Well, I made a promise in the end of my I am SPARTAN rant- that I owned the SPARTAN by the name of Cameron-811- so, always one to deliver; I am going to post this story.

This is the story of Cameron, the SPARTAN-II. I'm sorry that it might not follow 'canon' (I've forgotten the story behind Fall of Reach), but I'm writing a story off the top of my head, and I do a better job than most. Cameron-811 is an original character. Yes, 811 is a 7 reference; 8-1/1=7. Also, I am aware that the SPARTAN-II program never even historically had an 811, or an 810.

I don't own Dr. Halsey, the SPARTAN-II program, MJOLNIR armor, Orbital Shock Drop Troopers, Petty Officer Mendez, Earth (I wish), the Covenant, or the Prophet of Truth. All of these things (ALL OF THEM) belong to Bungie and Microsoft in a joint ownership.

My name is Cameron-811. I am… was a SPARTAN-II. I know that if you don't know who I am, you're going to read this, expecting me to tell you how 'awesome' or 'honorable' it was to me a SPARTAN, but my tale is quite different than that of John-117. I never 'died' and came back as a hero. I never fought the Flood. I never set foot upon the 'sacred rings', like my polar opposite did. It's ironic, really. You'll know why.

I was born on Earth. Seattle, actually, but the name means nothing to me. I'm not even sure that Cameron is my birth name, but I don't care about that. The day that my life took a turn for the worse was the day that I met Doctor Catherine Halsey. I was playing with toy cars for the first time (I think I was six, maybe), and she approached me. She asked me a few questions, and I answered. Near the end of the 'interview', Mike Sullivan, the bully from my school ran up and stole my toy Warthog. He got about three steps away before I tackled him to the ground and broke his nose. Doctor Halsey was completely unfazed by this, and asked a few more questions before walking away as calmly as she had approached. In retrospect, I should have told my mother, or just ignored Halsey altogether. Maybe it would have averted what was about to happen to me.

I woke up the next day in a bunk bed, wearing only my undergarments. I was woken up with a cattle prod, like some animal about to be led to their death. They forced me in the shower, with at least thirty other kids like me. Well, kids. No one's like me. After that, they put me in a uniform and made me sit and listen to my warden, Petty Officer Mendez. He told us that we were being selected to "Serve Earth and all her colonies." He offered us the chance to back down, but one of the soldiers shocked me when my arm twitched to raise it. So it began. The old me was dead.

Out of all of the people who I was raised with in the hellhole known as the SPARTAN-II program, only a few really stood out. John, who would later in life go on to be known as "the Master Chief". Fred, my only real friend, who would disappear from history altogether one day. Daisy, who always appeared to know something that we didn't. We were all so different, yet similar. Fred never wanted to win against us. Daisy always acted mysterious. John was a natural-born leader. I was antisocial. While we were all so different from one another, we were somehow similar. We all shared a deep hatred for the UNSC. The defining points in our lives determined this. John hated the fact that he and his soldiers were just the UNSC's little toy soldiers. Daisy hated them for some reason she never told us. Fred just plain hated them. I have my own reasons for my hatred. Aside from me, though, everyone pushed aside their anger. But that was the thing. Everyone but me.

The trainers were cruel to us all; but especially me. I was the guy who they never stopped zapping with their cattle prods. I was the one that they personally took out of training just so they could tell me that I was worthless. I was the one who was always human target training for the other SPARTAN's. I was the one who had to try to dodge paintballs, or I would be running laps for hours. They hated me, and I hated them.

The day I got my MJOLNIR armor was an eventful one. I watched the brief video about an average man trying it on and dying because of it. I laughed. Those idiots at ONI really thought it would work? Were they, perhaps, replaced by monkeys while making that decision? My armor was perfect. They gave me a white variation of the normally sepia armor, with a red trim just around it. It couldn't be better. I never really knew the reason why they gave me that armor instead of the norm. Maybe it was for stealth purposes; maybe it was the exact opposite—considering how my life is, that is more likely.

This is a story that took place much later in my life, during the fall of Reach. Despite what you think, Jorge- that attention hog- was not the only SPARTAN-II on Reach. There was, of course, Red Team, but I wasn't on that either. I was assigned to a team of ODST's. We were to remove some Covenant from the Visigrad Relay Station.

"You hear that?" the sergeant on my squad asked naively, aiming his assault rifle around as if he expected to see something. I rolled my eyes and looked at the seal of ONI, which was practically pasted all over the walls. I hated that seal. They hated me too. Sending me here; to the place that I was given my first mission ever. They were just trying to demonstrate that there was no love loss between the two of us. My sergeant was wearing a look of fear, unusual for an ODST.

I walked forward, my battle rifle resting at my hip. There was no chance of us encountering the Covenant here. Just another false mission given to me by the big man upstairs, like my last one. Why would the Covenant be here? (Note: This was before I was aware of the actual combat going on in other cities. ONI was intentionally keeping things from me.)

I walked past a computer with a window open. The top item, in big black letters said "S-811". That caught my attention. I paused and turned to open the item, waving my soldiers on as they walked by. Why would my serial number be here?

To: Chief Science Director Catharine Halsey; FWD. Director Etrius Beecher

From: CLASSIFIED

Subject: S-811

Attention Dr. Halsey, I apologize for this, but one of your SPARTAN's must be dealt with. Sierra 811, otherwise known as Cameron, has become a serious threat to the UNSC's security. As we both know, he has expressed extreme hatred towards the governments that run our society in the past. As of recently, the number of troopers turning to the Insurrection has increased, and we believe that it is S-811's fault. He must be dealt with. He will be coming into the Visegrad Relay Station, expecting to encounter Covenant forces, with a team of ODST's pretending to be afraid. When they get into the main relay room, the sergeant will switch to his EMP rounds and open fire upon S-811. The suit's shields will be disabled, and the rest of the team will finish him off. We expect your researchers at Visegrad to remove his body. I am deeply sorry, but he is a threat to national security and must be removed. Forward this message to your research team, and erase it from your records. From this point on, any time you wish to refer to 811, call him "Demon". That is all.

Andrew Black, Chairman of the Office of Naval Intelligence

I could practically feel the tear falling from my eye. Probably the first tear I'd ever shed in the army. Probably the last. I was worthless to them? A liability? ONI was marching me onto my death, and Halsey was allowing it? That… that bitch…

"Sir, we've got to move on. The main relay room is just ahead, that's where the Covenant is supposed to be," one of the privates in the squad said, feign fear in his voice. "We don't want to keep those Covvies waiting."

I nodded and walked to catch up with them. They were going to try to kill me now. I could see it for the first time in my sergeant's eyes. So, he would be the one to doom me. Not if I had anything to say about it.

I wasted no time raising my rifle and blowing the sergeant's brains all over the walls. He was busy changing magazines when it happened, trying to change to the EMP rounds. The other men turned, startled by the sudden noise. I pulled my pistol and raised both of my guns, quickly dispatching two of my executioners. Only one was left. I approached him and dropped my guns. I was shot about three times by the man, SMG in hand. He didn't stand a chance. I delivered what is appropriately named a "Spartan kick" right to the soldier's chest. His armor took the worst of the hit, but I could hear his ribcage shatter as he went flying into the next room.

He came flying onto the ONI seal painted into the floor. I was relentless as I grabbed the man's collarbone and began beating his face in. He might have died after the first hit, but I didn't care. The bastard deserved it. I beat his entire body out of existence. When there wasn't any more head to destroy, I stomped on his corpse. When there wasn't any more corpse left, I destroyed the other three.

I came to my knees on the ONI insignia. So, this is how it was? I was a liability, a traitor, a murderer? It looked like it. I raised my recovered pistol to my head. I wasn't going to go down by anyone else's hand but my own.

"Ahem."

What the hell was that? That didn't sound human. I turned around with my gun raised to find the source of the noise. It was an Elite. A Covenant Elite. A Field Marshall, by the look of it. He stared at me and I stared back. I dropped my gun. I was ready to take on all comers. "Well? Come on, you son of a bitch! I'll take you on!" I raised my fists and prepared for a glorious last stand. The Marshall, however, didn't respond. He just kept staring. Then, he laughed.

"Ah, foolish human. Your kind is not that bad. I understand you feel some kind of anger?" He pointed at my bloody suit. "Might I ask why it is that you murdered your fellow humans?" He seemed intrigued, so, after a brief pause, I explained myself.

"These men were supposed to kill me. They were ordered to by the very government that kidnapped me during my childhood and turned me into the man you see before you." I paused, realizing that I was explaining myself to a Field Marshall. Oh, well. Nothing to lose by continuing. I'm dead as it is. "I just wasn't about to let them kill me."

The Elite just nodded. "And the reason that you did not use your weapons?"

"I don't want to. They are made by my enemy, and my enemy's weapons are useless." I realize how uncharacteristic it is for me to talk like that, and shrug. "Now, I suppose that you and I are gonna have a fight to the death, eh?"

The Elite does what I think is a shake of the head, disproving what I asked. "No. I shall not. If you believe that you do not belong with the humans, I shall take you with me. You shall join us for the Great Journey. What say you?"

Now, that was a shocker. An Elite offering a SPARTAN the opportunity to join the Covenant? Wow. I didn't even know how to respond. The Covenant was my enemy. But here a Covvie was, asking me to come with me. I wasn't going to be welcome back in the UNSC. I just killed four ODST's. What would they do to me? What would John and the others do to me? ONI already wanted me dead. … ONI wanted me dead.

"May I ask your name?" The Elite asked.

"My name is C—" I paused, recalling the message. A SPARTAN would die here. "My name is Cameron, and I am a demon." A SPARTAN would die here… and a demon would be born.

The Field Marshall laughed "Then come, demon, and we shall return to my ship. You may not feel welcome, but if the stories of you creatures are true, even the Brutes will come to appreciate you." The Marshall came up to me and placed his hand on my shoulder pad. "You are welcome on the Great Journey. You will feel welcome eventually."

… The Elite was right. Even though the Prophets were not very fond of my joining of the Covenant, I still joined. I was not welcome, according to most, but I still was treated better than I ever was in the UNSC. Isn't that funny? A bunch of genocidal aliens, who hated even looking in my general direction, treated me better than my own species, which used me as a weapon.

The Elite was also right about the other thing. I was a worthy warrior in the UNSC, but here I was right up with the sword-bearing Elites. Under the title "Demon", I was assigned the rank of general, and until the Human-Covenant War ended, I fought and slaughtered my former allies, my former rulers.

… My former friends.

… And it ends here. I know that it never explains what happened during that time, and it's supposed to be that way. I'm going to base more stories off of this one, which go further into Cameron-811's history.

If you liked this story, feel free to tell me. If you didn't, feel free to leave some constructive criticism. I can take it. If you're going to tell me my story "sucks", then at least explain why you think that. I'd like to know your opinion.

Read, review, tell your friends, and read my stories. See you next time.