"We have our swords, we have our shields. Our guns and our bombs. All we need now, is Chaos..."
- Dr. Lizbeth Maes
Ever since I was 6, my life has been a daily routine of pain. Training, combat excercises, workouts, dicipline, all these things made up the majority of my life. They say this is my destiny, that I was born for greater things and that they are building me to be the best I can be. It's a lie, they stole me from a hospital, brought me to this living hell where i'm forced to become something else. 325 kids make up this company, all stolen from their beds, or from hospitals. All wishing they could go home, and none daring to ask when we could.
Today, i'm 16, ten years in hell, ten years of becoming the perfect soldier, a SPARTAN-III. We learnt about it last month, what we'll become, supersoldiers to be used in whatever war we're needed in. If thats the case, why are we learning about long dead species of animals? Our superior officers tell us it's to give us inspiration, to make us want to be like those animals. I suppose they have a point, the Timber Wolf looks like a monster out of legend. Makes me want to be like one, to hunt, and protect the pack, the perfect goal for a soldier.
- 3 years later -
Gods above, my body hurts, side effects of the augmentation procedure. Project CHRYSANTHEMUM, a series of drugs injected into us at varying points, each one affecting us in numerous ways. Harder bones, denser muscles, keener vision, enhanced reflexes, and in me: Predatory instincts, they made a hunter out of me.
With this we also got our callsigns, Mines W01F, AKA: Wolf. Not the worst among our company, that title goes to W4NK, poor guy. We're due to meet with the tech guys tomorrow, something about getting armored up for our first mission. We've already learnt about the suits we'll be wearing, hell we even got to do exercises in training models. Be another year before deployment though, something about live fire training.
- May 6, 2552, 0830 hours -
" SPASRTAN Wolf, your mission is to get to the target zone and guard it, you have a 5 man team including you. Your weapon and suit will lockdown if you are hit while your shields are down, There is minimal cover in the target zone. Once there your suit will start a 5 minute timer, once that timer runs out you, and any "living" members pass. Is that clear soldier?" Barked Chief Petty Officer Hughes. He was a tall man, well muscled, and almost too used to people jumping when he ordered it.
"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Came the sharp bark of a reply from Wolf. He hoped his usual team got assigned for this, The Pack. 5 very skilled SPARTAN-III's, perfect for this kind of mission. Wolf himself was tall, lean, and very skilled in key areas.
The sun glinted off of CPO Hughes' and Wolf's armor as the rear door of the pelican opened, giving them a good view of the area which Wolf had to guard. The target zone itself was a small blast bunker, sitting just proud of the landscape. Looking down they saw the team Wolf was assigned. W1NG, W411Y, W1N3, and W4D3. Not his pack.
Wolf jumped from the pelican, a trivial thing for a spartan, and besides it was only 25 feet. He looked over his team, they weren't the best, but they were still good. Nodding he set to his plan. "Heres the mission, we've been tasked with securing the target zone for 5 minutes. We get hit while our shields are down, and our suits lock up, minimal cover around the Target. Wally, You take point, circle us around the back of that bunker. Wine, Wade, You take the flanks, keep your eyes open, we don't know what we're up against. Wing, you navigate, keep us on course. I'll bring up the rear and cover our tracks. Any objections?" There wasn't. "Then fireteam Wolf, move out!"
It didnt take the 5 spartans long to reach the target, Wally and Wing keeping them perfectly on course, while Wine and Wade kept the flanks clear. They encountered a couple of hostiles, quickly dispatched them and moved on. As soon as all team members were in the Target Area, a chime rang out followed by a voice declaring loudly that they had entered the target area, and that 5 minutes remained till evac. Wordlessly, the team took up cover positions, with overlapping fields of fire. Only speaking to call out targets as they pulled the triggers of their assault rifles.
"4 minutes till evac." The same voice declared, Fireteam wolf was expecting much until the last 2 minutes, they were wrong. All of a sudden the rest of the company surged out of the bushes surrounding the bunker, lead by the pack. Curses flew as freely as bullets as fireteam wolf unleashed magazine after magazine of ammunition into the crowd. Wing was the first to run out of ammo, calling such as he switched to his pistol, followed seconds later by Wine and Wade calling the same. Not good, their opponents were gaining ground on 3 fronts now. Wolf growled as he switched to his pistol alongside Wally, taking careful aim with his shots, aiming for the head with each pull of the trigger. They only needed 10 more seconds to pass.
- June 12 2553, 1200 hours -
"Spartan Wolf, You have been assigned to Chaos Squad as acting Commander. This is a special operations group, and as such you are hereby sworn to secrecy to anyone but UNSCDF top brass. You will be fully briefed on arrival at Congratulations on your promotion SPARTAN W01F." That was the contents of the communique Wolf received, along side a transfer notice for the Charon-class frigate, UNSC Dragons Fire, currently stationed in orbit around Circumstance. If Wolf were a betting man, which he's not, he'd say their first deplyment would be to circumstance.
He thought it was kinda funny, he just happens to be a Spartan, that just happens to get assigned to a black ops squad, that JUST happens to get its own Charon class frigate, Which happens to be orbiting a planet called Circumstance. UNSC top brass did love their circumstances, now all Wolf had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride.