Apologies for seriously screwing up the last Halo/RWBY fic I did. To be honest, I literally had no idea what the living Hell I was doing. Now that I've done some 'research', I think I'm going to repair the damage I've done to my own series. This time, I'll take it slow for various reasons. I hope this one's better than the last one. As always, enjoy.
While I may eventually work for Microsoft or RoosterTeeth, I don't at the moment. Either way, I don't own the rights to RWBY or Halo. Thusly, I don't own ONI, the UNSC, the Covenant, or any other organizations/people from either franchise, no matter how much I may wish I did. Honestly, I'm actually rather glad for that; I might've screwed up the franchises had I owned either one.
Daniel was tough for his young age. At six years old, he could tell you which side of a die would land face up while focused on something else entirely. His friends had a fun time trying to overload him, especially this girl from Patch, but they never could. There was this one time that his friend Cody challenged him to a foot race, see who could be the first one up the side of a hill; while Daniel barely matched Cody in speed, he certainly outmatched the boy in sheer intellect and smart placement of strength.
One day, however, would change his life forever. This one lady came up to him one day after he and his friends got out of school, asked him if he wanted to play a game. She would flip a coin in the air, and he had to tell her which side would land face up. If he won, he would get to keep the coin. Out of five times, he got all of them right. The dark-haired woman introduced herself as Catherine just before he left to go home. He had the feeling that he'd be seeing a lot more of her in the near future, but he couldn't quite picture why.
That night, he heard the front door open. Under normal circumstances, he would've ignored it; this time, though, he knew something was off, as the front door was always locked. He got up and checked around the house, trying to see if there were any intruders. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, he closed the front door and turned around. To his total terror, he'd missed one crucial factor: right behind him. Tiptoeing right behind him as he checked around the house was a tall man in a military outfit.
The young Daniel struggled in the soldier's grasp as he was dragged out the front door. For a split second, he could've sworn he was staring in a mirror as he saw a clone of himself walk through the door he'd just been taken through. He remained confused as ever as he was shoved into a van and driven to wherever they were taking him…
Daniel soon learned why he was taken: this 'United Nations Security Council' needed help with something, and superhuman soldiers was their choice. With 149 other children his age, he was put through harsh training by these military officers. Sure enough, he saw Catherine again—her name, title included, was Dr. Catherine Halsey, and she was trying to prepare them for this 'SPARTAN' project they had in mind. After a few long years of harsh training, he and his fellow 'recruits' were put through an augmentation; of the 136 children who survived training, only 103 made it out of the augmentation alive.
After his augmentation, Daniel—now known as Daniel-003—found that his bones were nearly unbreakable, his Aura enhanced beyond human capacity, his mind sharper than a sword. His reflexes were also enhanced, as he was now able to evade stun rounds with ease. At 14-years-old, he could now lift twice the weight of an overweight adult without breaking a sweat. While running, he could run well over fifty miles per hour and not have to stop for a break for thirty minutes. He could leap six feet into the air and land like it was only a six-inch curb.
Recently, he and his fellow Spartans had noticed a trend: the military officials were going easier on them. Daniel-003, along with the rest of what was considered to be Blue Team—John-117, Caitlyn-141, and Michael-104—after a week of this, decided to go in and have a chat with their commanding officer, Admiral Allan Buford.
None of the Spartans really liked Admiral Buford, but very few of them hated him. The entirety of Blue Team hated the Admiral's guts with a passion because he had them kidnapped, trained in violent conditions, and finally 'upgraded' like they were tools or weapons. Those few Spartans never showed him what they really felt, but John and Daniel especially had a hard time keeping it bottled in.
Much like Daniel, John was almost literally ripped straight from his home. Unlike Daniel's family, who almost immediately knew something was off about their son's replacement, John's family had no idea that their son was taken by the UNSC. John was always ahead of the game, one step ahead of his teammates, but he'd developed a habit of feeling guilt when one of them had died from overworking or from the augmentation procedures. Since he knew who was in charge of it all, his guilt changed to sadness and outright rage.
Daniel, on the other hand, was always furious with the Admiral; the officer considered him to be the Omega, the weakest, the extra wheel, even when Daniel proved his worth. In a sick move, the Admiral intentionally tried to kill Daniel in his augmentation procedure. All of this, along with his fellow Spartans apart from Blue Team picking on him in his youth, played a part in who he turned out to be. Now, he found himself alone in his spare time, murdering punching bags and maiming speed bags and tearing into artificial opponents with speeds regarded as impossible even by fellow Spartans.
Daniel came out of his reminiscent state upon hearing John's fist rapping on the Admiral's office door.
"Proceed," Buford's gruff baritone voice called from within. Blue Team entered to see him speaking with Dr. Halsey. The two turned to see their visitors. Halsey smiled upon seeing the skilled group, whereas Buford maintained his usual stoic face.
"Ah, Blue Team," the supreme commander of all UNSC forces said in mock glee. "So good to see you. What can I help you with today, Chief?" Daniel knew from the beginning that Buford would only address Chief Petty Officer First Class John-117, so he kept his mouth shut, regardless of his anger with the Admiral.
"Sir," John spoke, stepping forward. "We've been noticing that your personnel have been going easier on us in training lately. I'd like to know what's going on. Sir." Daniel would've tuned out the Admiral, but the commander-in-chief said something lightyears out of the ordinary:
"Chief," Buford sighed. "Normally I'd say this isn't your business, but it is." John was taken aback.
"Sir?" he stammered out.
"One-one-seven, you and your fellow Spartans have shown astounding progress through your PT." Daniel's mind automatically slipped to the dark pits of his physical training. "Though I disagree, Doctor Halsey here thinks that a Spartan in a walking tank isn't enough, and has decided to further empower your Auras before you get the armor."
"With all due respect, sir, a powerful Aura is far more powerful than any tank, walking or not." The Admiral glared at John-117, who stood his ground.
"Fine. You want the truth, Chief? Halsey wants to send you to school."
Michael's jaw fell to the floor in surprise. Caitlyn's eyes grew bigger than plates. John's unfaltering stance faltered. Daniel was the only Spartan in the room whose mind didn't explode; instead, he gave Halsey a look that said 'excuse me'.
"I—excu—I don't—you want us to do WHAT," Daniel-003 nearly shouted, startling John.
"Exactly my sentiments, Double-oh-three," Allan Buford thought he agreed. "Catherine Halsey, are you hearing this?"
"Halsey, are you a telepath?" Daniel and Michael said simultaneously before glaring each other down, Daniel's sulfur-yellow eyes winning over Michael's ocean-blues. Admiral Buford stared at the two Spartans in confusion.
"I spoke with Halsey the other day," John admitted. "I told her that a textbook or two and extreme Aura enhancements won't be enough to make a super-soldier. I just… didn't think she'd actually listen."
"Which school," Caitlyn pondered aloud. The Admiral swatted his forehead while Halsey smiled.
"The best soldiers deserve the best schools, right," the doctor mentioned. "It starts in two weeks. Best be getting ready for that day, Spartans."
Even one and a half weeks after being told, Daniel couldn't believe it. He and his fellow Spartans were actually going back into society. He'd somehow come across his family, who'd been hoping he wasn't dead after all. After a few days of sharing stories and listening to family lore, he departed. In the meantime, he built himself a pair of weapons, twin gauntlets; one a machine gun with a rotating magazine, capable of firing at well over 300 rounds per minute; the other a grenade launcher which ignited grenades before launching, a feat even he couldn't understand. He'd taken the liberty of taking a Mongoose—a small four-wheeler ATV designed for speed and agility—and modified it so it looked moderately like a well-armored motorcycle painted camouflage.
Between learning about the White Fang—a Faunus rights group turned violent—reading about a human supremacist group calling themselves the Red Angels, and arguing with Marines about almost everything, he was totally and nearly infinitely stressed. He needed a break, and had a feeling he knew where he wanted to go.
On the modified vehicle he called the Cheetah, Daniel-003 drove around Vale, weaving between buildings and around sharp turns on streets. He reached his destination in approximately 3 minutes. The Spartan dismounted the armored bike and entered through the sliding doors. Inside, there was blaring dance music, dancers on the floor, and—ah, there's what he was looking for.
On his way to the bar, he noticed that quite the number of guys wearing suits and red sunglasses were staring at him, eyeing him as if they expected him to pull something crazy. It was probably because he was wearing sunglasses himself, as well as a black leather jacket with an equally dark hood, gray cargo jeans, and military-issued boots over his weapons and form-fitting… whatever it was.
He found a spot away from everyone else, though it seemed that some middle-aged guy was headed his way.
"Just get me something," the Spartan told the bartender. "I don't care what, just don't drug it."
"Aren't you a little young to be in this club, kid," the bearded man asked as he arrived at Daniel's location. The bartender set down a shot glass filled with a transparent liquid that smelled strongly of alcohol.
"I'm a Spartan," Daniel mentioned, reminding himself that the other Spartans had already spewed that such a program as Spartan-II existed in the first place. It wasn't the craziest thing out there, though it probably was, using war to create peace. He picked up the glass of whiskey and swirled it around.
"Even a Spartan can get drunk, if he's not careful," the man mentioned. Daniel recognized the man's voice and matched it to the owner of the club, Junior. The soldier downed the whiskey in one swallow, breathing red fire when he exhaled. Junior's eyes widened in surprise.
"Not if he burns through alcohol like a tank does gasoline," Daniel mentioned. "Besides, it's all in the willpower. If I don't want to get drunk, I don't. If a Spartan gets drunk, he wouldn't really be a Spartan at that point, now would he?" Junior shrugged, acknowledging the soldier's point.
Through the vibrations in the floor, Daniel felt someone else enter. Female, judging by the way she walks. Not in a hurry, though probably eager to meet with someone. The sounds of her boots' clomping getting louder told Daniel that she was headed in his direction.
"Uno mas," Daniel set his empty shot glass on the bar counter. It was full and back in his hand by the time the visitor stopped between him and the bar's owner. He toned everything out and focused on all he'd learned over the recent weeks.
His surname was Phoenix, and for a very good reason. Before human civilization began, his ancestor found the mythical flaming bird, whose power pushed back the Grim and still courses through his family today. There were three separate branches of his family tree: the Phoenixe line, who wished to exploit the fiery power for personal gain; the Phoenixs line, who tried to hide the power given to them; and the original Phoenix line, who sought to use the mighty power to protect Mankind from all threats.
The pure intentions of his own family became corrupt when his own father was just a baby. His father's uncle, believing that Humanity was the only pure thing on Remnant, helped found the supremacist group called the Red Angels. Daniel's grandfather disowned and banished his brother for forming the racist group. Years later, several of his own family members argued over whether their bloodline was Faunus or human. Those who stayed out of it could only stand by and watch as their family split apart, some of them joining the supremacists while others helped the Faunus civil rights group called the White Fang. Daniel's older brother, Benjamin, recently joined Atlas and became involved with the military. Over a couple of generations, Daniel's own family tore at the seams of racial violence and militaristic views.
The only good thing he heard from his father was about what made the Phoenix bloodline so special. Every member of his family had two Semblances: a unique one and the power of the firebird. Daniel was unique among his own family members because of two reasons: he had an unnaturally powerful and large Aura, which he could fire off like a laser; and he had a black birthmark on his right shoulder, in the shape of the Phoenix.
He once again snapped out of his trance to the sounds of intense combat. He looked around the club to see total chaos: the visitor, whom he now recognized to be Yang Xiao Long, was busy beating the stuffing out of several of Junior's 'employees'. Speaking of which, one of those unfortunate souls was sent flying in his direction. With his newfound power, he raised a wall of fire and let it harden into obsidian. The thug smashed into the volcanic stone with a sharp crack.
Daniel took his shot of whiskey and drained it quickly, not bothering to exhale the fire in his stomach. The obsidian disappeared in a ball of fire and smoke as the Spartan stood up and passed it by. Someone noticed him standing up and walking towards the exit, making the mistake when he tried to attack him.
Spartan-003's left hand caught fire as he put it between him and the brutish thug. The man didn't have time to slow down, or jump out of the way for that matter, before a beam of orange fire came out of the Spartan's fist and sent him flying at least a dozen yards. Nothing else stopped his march to the door.
On his Cheetah he got and, after revving the motor a few times, he released the brake and went racing and weaving through the city streets.
END
A/N: Sorry if this chapter disappointed some of you readers. I just intended for this chapter to be expositional. Besides, I'm still going through the plot in my head. I'm going to have to watch RWBY again, simply because I forgot about how a lot of it went.
I'll have Chapter Two out soon (hopefully). Otherwise, I hope you all have a good week and I'll see you all sometime soon. Adios (that and the other Spanish you saw in the story is about all the Spanish I know).