Halo: Vanguard
Section One: Honor Three
Chapter I: Origins
"Honor is not earned; it is born in the hearts of heroes."
July 3, 2544 (Estimated Military Time) \ Vessius, Paris System.
Darkness; I always hated it. No matter where I turned, no matter where I looked, it was always there. Enveloping me. Suffocating me.
I began to panic, my mind racing and trying to justify my sudden lack of vision. My brain was burning with pain, and I quickly realized that I had been unconscious at some point.
I could hear muffled shouts and voices around me as I was shoved forward, my fragile feet struggling to keep up. My breath came out as quick gasps as I tried to keep up with the pace and remain conscious at the same time. I was barefoot and the cold, stone floor sent chills up my body. I was cold and tired, a good sign that it was probably well into the night. Fear gripped my heart like a sword as the shoving became fiercer and the shouting came to its crescendo.
"That's far enough! Take off the bag and get him ready!" yelled a rasping voice close to my ear. My head exploded with fiery pain as a hand grasped me and ripped off the bag obscuring my vision. A flash of blinding light rushed into my retinas, and I cried out in shock in pain. After a few seconds of mind numbing pain, I opened my eyes.
I was standing in the center of a circular pit, with concrete walls trapping me inside. The floor was made of rough sand that scratched my feet and made them itch. Hanging lights brightened the arena, and droplets of water fell from cracks in the ceiling. At least a hundred men in gray armor sat in rows above the arena, shouting and cursing with eyes burning with murderous animosity.
I looked ahead of me and saw another boy my age, standing on the other side of the arena. He was barely seven, with innocent green eyes and a mane of brown, tattered hair. He wore nothing except for a pair of Skivvies and strips of rough cloth wrapped around his knuckles. He looked scared out of his wits, like me, and was glancing at the soldiers shouting insults at him from above.
A soldier grabbed my hands and wrapped a scratchy, thick cloth around them, just like the other boy. When he was finished, he chuckled and gave me a hard pat on the back.
"Good luck, bastard." He spoke as he grinned and left the arena through a barred door far behind me, slamming it shut. Only the green eyed boy and I were left in the pit.
Suddenly the green eyed boy roared and charged at me, tears in his eyes and fists at his side. He was upon me in seconds, connecting his left fist with my cheek. I was sent crashing to the floor as I cried out in pain and shock. Without hesitation he was on me again, fists rising and falling on my frail body like hammers. I blocked as much as I could, keeping my face away from his attacks. As he began to tire, I spotted my opportunity and smashed my right elbow into his nose, hearing a satisfying crack as the cartilage was broken. He screamed and crawled away, blood dripping from his crooked nose. I stumbled to my feet and caught my breath, tasting blood with each gasp.
The soldiers watching were losing their minds, shouting and cheering on the fight as if we were nothing but mindless animals. Strangely, their cheers began to strengthen me, surfacing a part of me I didn't know existed until now; Ferocity.
With a roar I dashed towards the boy without hesitation. I punched him with all my strength in the gut, causing him to spit blood violently. I threw a second fist into his gut as he convulsed and released the content of his stomach on the floor below. He doubled over, groaning, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon.
I was engulfed by rage; I couldn't stop myself. I grabbed his skull and smashed my kneecap into his face. His head and body was flung backwards as he fell to the ground, a huge, bleeding cut above his nose. The fight was over as quickly as it started.
I stood there, fists clenched and covered in blood. I stared at the unconscious boy at my feet, realizing what I had done. I had reacted without thinking; my mind had been completely overpowered by instinct. Seven years struggling to fight and survive in the cold streets of Vessius had made me impulsive, fueled by my senses, unable to put thoughts before actions. I was an animal; mindless.
The cheering snapped me out of my daze. My mind began to function again and I stumbled around the arena, looking for a way out of this hellhole.
The barred door opened with a loud hiss, and two men in black tuxedos came walking towards me. Three soldiers armed with MA5B Assault Rifles accompanied them. I watched the men cautious and began to back away.
The man on the left was tall and well groomed, with sleek black hair, piercing blue eyes, and a chiseled face. A symbol of a skull with two crossing rifles behind it was displayed on his shoulder.
The man on the right was someone I had seen several times before throughout my seven years of life. His brown eyes gazed upon me and his face remained emotionless. Fear rushed through my body as my mind attached a name to him; Father.
"You were right, my friend. The boy is a fierce fighter. We could certainly use a child with his skills in our program." Spoke the man on the left as he reached me, eyes examining the bruises on my face and chest.
"I told you you wouldn't be disappointed, Grayson." Replied my father, a sinister grin growing on his face.
"But are you willing to sell him to us? He is, of course, your son." Grayson asked.
"He has been nothing but a burden all his life. He'd be a far better Insurrectionist than he was a son." said my Father, completely without emotion. He spoke the words so calmly, as if I meant absolutely nothing to him. He'd rather die than admit that I was his son.
"So be it. Come with me back to Ragnarok and we'll discuss the price. Send the boy away with the others and let the arena matches continue." Concluded Grayson as he and my father began to walk away.
Suddenly, a flash of blinding light clouded my vision as a blast of excruciating pain surged through my brain. My eyes rolled into the back of my eye sockets as I was again enveloped in darkness. The strike from the butt of the rifle had knocked me to the ground, unconscious.
Ice cold water smacked into my face and brought me back to consciousness. I coughed violently and spat out water, my body shivering from the cold. My lungs began pulsing with pain as I struggled to breathe. After a few frightening moments, I was able to catch my breath and calm myself. My mind activated and instinct put my body on full alert as I scanned my surroundings.
I was in a small room, barely big enough to hold ten people. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the room in ominous dim light. The walls were completely bare and made of gray metal and the floor was made of the same material. A man in the same gray armor as the soldiers I had seen in the Arena sat across from me, in front of a thick metal door. A Helmet adorned his head and covered his face and eyes from view. A metal bucket lay at his feet.
I immediately noticed that I was completely naked, and my hands were cuffed and chained above my head to the wall behind me. I panicked, and began to struggle to free my hands to no avail.
"Stop that." Spoke the man suddenly. I obeyed. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again, "What is your name?"
I stared at the man, not knowing what to expect. Instinct, the little demon that it was, forced me to answer him.
"I…um…its-" I never got to even speak my name. In an instant, the man's armored fist smashed into my chest, cracking one of my ribs. The most pain I've ever felt in my life overtook me and I began to convulse. The man sat there, motionless, as I shouted in pain for what seemed like an eternity.
I began to drift in and out of consciousness, the pain numbing my mind.
"You have no name. You have no home. You have no family." Spoke the soldier, his voice calm. The fucking bastard! "Your life didn't start when you crawled out of your whore of a mother. It starts in this room, in this very moment."
"I'LL KILL YOU!" I shouted at him through spasms of pain.
He stood and struck me across the cheek, whipping my head in the opposite direction as spit was launched from my mouth. I didn't feel it; my entire body was already numb.
"When I come back, I want you to have an answer for this question; what are you?" said the soldier as he opened the door behind him.
"…fuck you…" I managed to say before he left the room and closed the door.
I was alone again.
I don't know how long I sat in that room for. Every now and then I would snap in and out of consciousness. The room reminded me of my life; empty, isolated, dark, depressing.
What am I? What the hell kind of question was that? I was an outcast, a boy born into this world to struggle to survive. Unloved and unwanted by his father, I was left alone and homeless, wandering the streets of Vessius; fighting and stealing to live from day to day. I was being fucked with, by a god that only wanted to see me suffer.
I didn't know how much time I had wasted chained to the wall in that room. Hours? Days? Maybe even months? I had no clue, and it didn't matter. I began to lose hope of ever leaving this godforsaken place.
When my stomach began to cave in from hunger, a small hiss came to my ears as the metal door slid open. The soldier walked into the room and stuffed a loaf of bread into my mouth, watching silently as I swallowed it whole. After I was finished, he spoke again.
"What are you?" he asked. I had spent a large amount of time formulating my answer.
"I'm a victim. I didn't ask for any of this to happen, I didn't even ask to be born. My life has been nothing but a living hell and I want nothing more than to die in here." I grew quiet, contempt with my answer. The soldier stood above me, unmoving and silent.
"Wrong answer."
I screamed in horror as 50,000 volts of electricity surged through my body. My muscled pulsed in fiery pain and became numb, and my organs began to stress under the voltage. I could smell smoke leave my mouth as the soldier removed the Taser from my chest. I began to gurgle and sputter as once again I drifted into darkness…
When I finally awoke I was alone again. Feeling had begun to come back into my muscles and the pain was beginning to become bearable. Tears began to fall from my face as I broke down, sobbing. I had been broken.
Three more times the soldier walked into the room and asked his question, and three more times I gave him the wrong answer. I tasted the stinging jolts of static course through my body after each wrong answer, then the inevitable dive into unconsciousness.
After what seemed like an eternity, the soldier walked into the room again, Taser firm in his hands. I glared at him fiercely, pure hatred for the man showing in my eyes.
"What are you?" he asked, his voice still emotionless.
I began to chuckle, madness in my eyes. I understood everything now. I understood why my life was filled with undesired pain. Never again would I be broken; my destiny was clear to me. I had no emotions, no feelings. I didn't need them. Life's too cruel to live it by suffering; only the strong survived in this world.
"I am a demon." I answered, my voice covered in rage.
"Why?" the soldier asked, intrigued.
"Because demons exist to exact justice on those that deserve it. I'm no longer human; I've rid myself of their useless emotions. I am a beast, driven by instinct alone and fueled by rage and hatred. My life has been my ultimate suffering, and only by knowing true pain, can I inflict it on others." I answered.
"So you exist to kill those that deserve death? That is your definition of justice? I watched your fight in the arena; you're ruthless and brutal. A beast creeps within your soul. You have suffered so much for a reason. Fate has chosen you to balance the scales of humanity and eliminate those that threaten justice. We can help you become a demon, boy. We can shape you into a perfect soldier, and help you achieve the justice that you were not granted."
The soldier dug out a folded piece of paper from one of his pockets and unfolded it. He showed it to me, and only one word was written on it, "Vanguard."
"This is your new identity." Spoke the guard. "This name will signify your new life. Nothing else in your past matters now. I'm giving you a chance to start your life anew, Vanguard. Don't waste it."
The soldier took out a key and unlocked the shackles on my hands, freeing me from the wall. "Come, you're ready to begin your training." He said as he began to walk out of the door.
He was right; this is where my life would begin. I had a reason to keep living, to keep fighting.
But for now, to hell with that. I had to keep a promise I made to myself a while ago. I was going to kill this motherfucker.
I mustered my strength and leapt at the soldier, intending to grip him in a chokehold and strangle him to death. The soldier quickly turned around and caught me in midair, grabbing my shoulder and slamming me on to the floor. He pressed his knee into my back and wrapped his arm around my neck, constricting my windpipe and leaving me struggling for air.
"You're gonna have to be a lot quicker than that if you plan to kill me." chuckled the soldier.
We left the room and entered a hallway with lockers covering the walls. I could see rows and rows of doors leading to rooms like the one I had been imprisoned in all throughout the hallway.
The soldier opened a locker labeled "Vanguard" and took out a black uniform. He tossed it to me, "Put it on."
I put on the uniform, and surprisingly it fit perfectly. My name was printed on the back of the uniform in big yellow letters.
We continued down the hallway, which led to even more and more hallways cluttered with Insurrectionist soldiers scurrying here and there. We rounded a corner and came up to a huge set of metal doors labeled "Briefing Room A-12" with two armed soldiers on both sides of it.
"Prometheus." Spoke the soldier to one of the guards. With a nod, the guard opened the double doors and ushered us inside the room.
The room was huge and packed with soldiers, all standing guard against the walls. A hundred chairs were placed in ten rows in the center of the room, all but one accompanied by children around my age group and wearing the same uniform as me. A metal stage was at the front of the room, with the Liberation Front flag hanging on the back wall. Several men in tuxedos stood atop the stage, and I recognized Grayson standing in front of a microphone. The room was quiet save for the rare chatter between the guards.
A soldier escorted me to the only empty chair in the back row, beside a boy with the name "Zeke" etched onto the back of his uniform.
Zeke was small, about my size, and had shaggy black hair that covered his forehead and eyebrows. He glanced at me with ice blue eyes, as if calculating what the best method to murder me was. A large, fresh cut reached from his forehead down to his cheek, and his fingers twitched every now and then, a sure sign that he had been tased recently. I wasn't the only one hear who had been tortured, it seemed.
"Greetings." began Grayson, whose voice echoed throughout the room. All chatter ceased immediately. "I am General John Grayson, leader of the Liberation Front. For those who don't know what the Liberation Front is, it is an organization of numerous insurgent factions that have allied together to rebel against the United Nations Space Command since 2528. We are one of the strongest insurrectionist groups to declare war against the UNSC, and our army spans from the Paris system, the Eridanus system, and even as far as the Sigma Octanus system. For years we've fought valiantly against the tyranny of the UNSC, but we are losing this war. Even while the UNSC are fighting with all their resources against the Covenant army, we are still unable to turn the tide of our war; until now. I'm sure most of you have heard of the legendary Spartans that have led the UNSC from victory to victory throughout their war with the Covenant."
At the mention of the super soldiers, chatter between the guards and the kids began to rise.
"ONI's Spartan-II Project has been above classified for years, without a hint of information on the project escaping their offices. Leaked information has been received by us that suggest that the UNSC is successfully produced another generation of Spartans, Codenamed the Spartan-III Program. We believe that they now possess an army of Spartans at their disposal. If we don't act immediately, then this war is lost." Grayson paused, letting the reality of the situation seep in. an army of Spartan super soldier? Damn.
"The UNSC has made a fatal mistake, my friends." He continued. "Last month, one of our spies within ONI's Beta-5 Division was able to copy and transfer documents and files regarding the Spartan-II Program to us. Using the information, we plan to halt funding on all operations and focus all our time, resources, and funds to creating our own breed of super soldiers. With Spartans at the Liberation Front's disposal, we could greatly affect the war and finally gain an upper hand against the UNSC. You, my children, will be the first generation of Insurrectionist Spartans. You will be the candidates for the Spartan-IV Program."
Everyone in the room was wide with shock. We were going to become a new Generation of Spartans? Is this what the soldier meant when he said they could help me achieve my goal?
Grayson raised his hand to stop the whispering that had cascaded throughout the room. "The road will be long and gruesome, and some of you may not make it to the end; but do not be afraid. We will mold you into killers. We will change you into cold, heartless beings capable of executing any order without delay or hesitation. You will be killing machines, invincible, and you will help the Liberation shatter the UNSC Empire." That sounded pretty damn good to me. I looked over at Zeke, who had a wide grin. He must've liked that idea too. I wondered what his story was.
"You will be escorted to the Barracks to get some rest, and then tomorrow, your training will begin. You are dismissed." concluded Grayson as he stepped down from the microphone and left the room.
We stood, all one hundred Spartan-IV candidates, and were escorted back down the halls by the soldiers. I walked in silence, as did many of us, letting what we just heard sink into our minds. Spartans…
The Barracks was a massive room, at least half a kilometer long, with metal cots lined down in rows of ten, just like the chairs in the Debriefing room. A small locker was laid in front of each cot, with the owners name written on it.
"Try to get some sleep, you'll need a shitload of energy for your first day of training tomorrow." chuckled the soldiers as they left the room and locked the door behind them.
I began searching for my cot as the other kids socialized about what had just occurred. I noticed that not one of them spoke of their pasts before coming here, a sure sign that they had been broken in the same way that I had been.
I found my cot in the corner of the room, coincidentally right next to Zeke's. The cot above me belonged to "Hercules," whoever the hell that was. With a codename like that, I'm not sure I wanted to find out.
"This is fucking crazy!" shouted a blonde boy a few feet away from me. He had spiky blonde hair and a small body frame, his arms resembling sticks attached to a torso. "They can't really expect us to become super soldiers, we're just kids!"
"Oh come off it, Bambi. You've been complaining ever since we got here." Spoke a female voice from the cot in front of me. The girl lay on her back, arms under her head as if she didn't have a care in the world. Her eyes were a dark green and long black hair reached down to her shoulders. She was a few years older than me, maybe 13 or 14. Her features were striking, causing me to blush when I saw her. The name "Boss" was written on her locker.
She glanced at me and I quickly turned my gaze to Bambi, who walked down the rows of cots and continued his rant. I could feel her gaze on me still.
"What's your name?" she asked, pretending she couldn't read the word written on my locker.
"Vanguard." I replied quickly, blushing even more. She stared at me for a few more seconds before lying back in her cot.
"So, do you know how long we were…in those cells for?" I asked nervously. I had meant to ask one of the soldiers that question, but had missed my chance.
"Three days for us, four for you. You were the last one out of the cells, ya know. You must be one tough motherfucker." She replied, staring at me again.
Shock overcame me as I sounded the words. Four days. Four whole days locked in that cell, being mentally and physically tortured. I sat back in my cot, letting that sink in. four fucking days.
Zeke found his cot and slumped in it, and I began to hear his soft snoring a few seconds later. I realized that the entire room had gotten quieter as exhaustion began to affect the others too, who fell into their cots and drifted to sleep. Fatigue gripped me too and my eyes began to droop, and I didn't fight it. In a matter of seconds, I was asleep too.
I remember having a dream about my father that night. It was the last one I ever had.