SPARTAN-D053

Sigma Squad Recon Team (SSRT)

UNSC Destroyer-Class Ship Beacon of Hope, Terra System

1343 Standard Military Time

SPARTAN-D053 had been described as the Grim Reaper, a phantom of death. Where ever he went, taken lives followed. His reputation was nothing short of terrifying and his career horrifying. A Delta-Company SPARTAN-III.

He, along with 99 other candidates had been taken from their homes to serve in the Human-Covenant war. He was one of the lucky 44 who survived the training. The Delta company program had training rough enough to rival the SPARTAN-IIs'.

"Breaches in hull sectors three and four!" shouted a lieutenant. The lieutenant was a young and cowardly man, who had hardly any combat experience except for the rare occasions that he was in the shooting range, usually from peer pressure. That lead to the Delta company SPARTAN's confusion as to how in the world he had survived this long in the war, let alone gain the title of lieutenant.

"Shut all blast doors that could lead to depressurization! Everyone, to their battle stations!" said Captain Armin, a Hungarian man that had survived long enough to reach 48. He always wore a pristine, crisp white suit, but wasn't afraid to don the standard marine or ODST armor. This earned him respect in the SPARTAN's mind, as a leader couldn't see themselves apart from their troops or else they wouldn't be effective.

He had said the last part into the ship-wide COMM system, his voice steady and calm but carrying a certain urgency to it. "Multiple Covenant forces docking at dock six!" said a younger man from across the bridge. This caught the otherwise silent SPARTAN's ear. "Sir, should I take care of it?" he asked, his voice, the one of a very young man, carrying professionalism through and through.

"No," came the Captain's response, "You'll be more valuable here in the bridge. We already have a platoon of marines on the way." The SPARTAN, while thinking he should be fighting right now, saw the logic in that. They needed to save their most powerful weapons for last, as even the weakest of the Beacon of Hope's weapons were comparable to MAC guns, or Mass Accelerator Cannons.

"Very well, sir," the SPARTAN responded coolly. His outward appearance was calm, yet albeit tense for an attack at any second. Years of combat had taught him that even if you don't expect a fight, always be ready for one. No such thing as paranoia in the UNSC.

His trigger finger twitched in anticipation. The SPARTAN would admit that he himself was a bit of a psychopath, rage at the Covenant over-ruling any sort of military order or discipline on the field at times. He was by no means the most reckless of Delta company, nor the most disciplined. He was a mix of both.

"Covenant have breached all external defenses! Orders?" came a crackling marine voice over the COMMs. The screen showed that it was GySgt Mason Cooke. "Fall back. I am authorizing a MAC round," said the Captain, a growl rising in his voice. For a brief millisecond, a moment to the SPARTAN-III, the GySgt hesitated but responded, "Understood."

"Ready the MAC gun and aim directly at the turrets when they fire," ordered Armin, narrowing his eyes.

From the bridge's external cameras and view, the SPARTAN-III could see that they were turning around, facing the Covenant ship. There multiple groans from the Beacon of Hope's infrastructure, due to the damage sustained on the port side. "Thruster seven just went offline!" reported a voice from the back of the bridge. "Szar," muttered the Captain.

"Can we still fire the MAC gun accurately?" demanded Armin, not looking away from the Covenant ship coming into view. "Affirmative, sir, but not without difficulty," responded the voice, now recognized as an engie. "Good," said Armin coolly. "Covenant ship within range!" reported a bald man in a white outfit. "Fire the MAC gun now," commanded the Captain.

And they did. A massive, yellow-energy-surrounded slug shot from the front of the Beacon of Hope's front, headed dead-center for the Covenant ship. Time seemed to slow for the SPARTAN-III as he watched the MAC slug. As expected, it slammed into the head of the Covenant ship, bursting through its shields and going clean through the hull.

A young man from the front confirmed what the SPARTAN-III was thinking, "Enemy ship offline, sir! Now we simply have to deal with remaining Covenant forces aboard our ship!"

0-0-0

The SPARTAN-III raced down the hallways, sniper rifle and BR in hand. Sirens were blaring on the roof, a constant reminder of the attack. Platoons of marines followed him, ready for combat. They were heading for docking bay 002, currently a Covenant hold-out since they couldn't retreat to their ship.

He skidded around a corner, his heavy MJOLNIR creating heavy thumps against the standard-grey floor. "Go, go, go!" ordered a Sergeant. They stopped at a locked door, presumably cutting off their path to the docking bay. "Any way to get this door opened?" asked the Sergeant. The SPARTAN-III nodded and walked backward.

The marines understood what he would do and backed away, giving him a wide berth. The Sergeant did the same. The SPARTAN-III then sprinted at his top speed into the heavy grade-C titanium door, creating a seven-foot-tall dent in it. To the SPARTAN-III's surprise, though, it didn't budge. He backed up, and slammed into the door again, pleased to see it fly backwards and slam into two grunts, killing them.

"Weaklings," the SPARTAN-III muttered. The Sergeant and the platoons of marines swarmed into the Docking bay, firing at every singly stray Covenant. He ran into action, his golden shields activating the instance a projectile hit him. In this case, it was a needler round.

"Behind cover, marines!" shouted the Sergeant, ducking behind a crate carrying extra ammo. The SPARTAN-III sprinted behind a warthog, headshotting three grunts on the way. "Pop goes the weasel!" shouted a marine.

The SPARTAN heard the familiar sound of plasma searing metal, probably from a grunt or elite or jackal. They were usually the races that used the super-heated material. His shields popped into existence again due to a spike from the spiker weapon of a stray brute.

The SPARTAN-III popped his head out of cover and fired shots at said brute, killing it with practiced precision and ease. Suddenly, he felt something like a hammer hit him in the side, and then an explosion, causing him to fly backwards and out of cover.

It had been a grenade from a bruteshot. There are multiple brutes? he thought. He quickly realized he had fallen out of cover. He flipped to his feet, reaching for his BR. Before he managed to get it, two plasma shots managed to reach him and landed on his right leg. He hissed in pain but shoved it down, ignoring the searing sensation that was crawling up his appendage.

He looked up and saw a team of elites carry something that resembled a bomb. From his time on NOBLE team, he recognized it as a slipspace bomb. His eyes widened slightly behind his visor, but he remained focused. "The Covenant have brought aboard a slipspace bomb," he reported into his COMM to the captain.

"What!?" he heard the Captain shout, right before an elite activated it. After that, it was all black.

May God help us all.

AN: Yes! My OC was in NOBLE team. He doesn't replace SPARTAN-B312 as Noble Six – he was more of the stealth expert in the team, Noble Seven. So, uh, yeah.

Reviews are appreciated! So, please do! :D

PS: How'd you like my OC?